


An Officer and the Noble Woman

by DavidTennantsTrainers



Category: Blackpool, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: An Officer and the Noble Woman, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 273,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DavidTennantsTrainers/pseuds/DavidTennantsTrainers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While investigating a murder, Peter Carlisle meets Donna Noble, a woman whose life is an even bigger mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: All hail the great and glorious WhosInTheAttic! Never once did she flinch or throw up her hands in frustration, regardless of how many times I sent her snippets of chapters to read or how many times I put off posting this. Even so, any and all mistakes are my own. This is the first thing I've ever written and I literally never would have typed a word if not for WhosInTheAttic. I hope to someday write even half as well as she does- her fic is both achingly beautiful and staggeringly hot.
> 
> (This work was originally posted to LiveJournal, until they started having issues. I anticipate this story will eventually run to about 30 chapters before it's done. I already have the first 13 chapters written, so I'll post them as quickly as I can.) UPDATE: So much for anticipation. Chapter 30 is but a fond memory in the rear-view mirror, but I promise, there is a map and I'll follow it to the end.
> 
> Rating: PG- There is a murder in the background, after all. There will be later chapters of a decidedly adult nature, so be warned.
> 
> Disclaimer: Donna and Peter both belong to others, except in my own twisted version of what should be.
> 
> NOTE: Sorry, this is my first story, and when I started, I wasn't sure how I wanted to write Peter's accent. I've decided on no for not, dinnae for did not and a few other minor things. I will only use ye for you and yer for yours when he's either very relaxed or very upset. I'm in the process of revising it, so my apologies for the uneven 'voice'.

**10:00 PM, Wednesday, 18 April 2012**

“Tell me, DS Keating, why is it we're never called out to one of these events when the sun is shinin' and the weather is pleasant?, mused Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle as he strode across the damp pavement towards the crime scene tape draped decorously about the narrow alley. “Could someone no suggest to the criminal element of this city that shady business need not be taken care of exclusively in the shade?" Detective Sergeant Ian Keating raised an eyebrow at his partner's flippant remarks but otherwise refrained from comment.

In response, one of the Constables milling about the forensics team broke away from the group and moved to address the arriving Detectives. “Detective Inspector, Detective Sergeant," the younger officer said tersely by way of greeting, and at Peter's answering nod, he continued. “This is what we know so far. The victim is male, mid to late 20's, Caucasian, reported to the High Road station approximately two hours ago as lying prone in the alley by an anonymous caller."

“Ah, the good folk of Chiswick are keen to uphold their civic duties, eh, Keating?" Peter cut in. “Warms the heart, does it no?" DS Keating rolled his eyes and grimaced slightly before pointedly returning his attention to the PC before them. The PC's face betrayed nothing and, if anything, his posture stiffened as he waited to continue. Peter glanced at his partner who merely lowered his eyes and ran his tongue along the front of his top teeth in an effort to suppress a faint smile. Chastened slightly, Peter returned his attention to the PC with strained patience, accepting the blue booties and gloves the man extended to him without further comment. “The ERU arrived at about half past and have been **diligently** ," the PC imbued the word with special emphasis, “processing the scene."

“Thank you for the precise and informative nature of your report," Peter replied, without a hint of irony as he stood from covering his shoes. “We'll survey the scene and then begin lookin' for witnesses." The PC fixed Peter with a hard stare, then nodded, first to him and then to his partner before moving back to the clump of uniforms at the periphery of the alley. DI Carlisle regarded the retreating figure for a few moments before inhaling deeply and sauntering over to the Evidence Recovery Unit. “No sense of humor a'tall, that one," he threw over his shoulder for the benefit of Ian.

DS Keating seized the opportunity and responded, “About that, and I have wondered- what precisely do you find amusing about a murder scene?" Peter stopped and regarded his colleague seriously. In the nearly six months they had been partnered, it wasn't the first time Keating had asked him a personal question, but, as this one might clarify their working relationship, it was the first time Peter felt obliged to offer a serious answer.

“Long ago, I decided there were only two sane responses to the inhumanity that mankind insists on visitin' upon itself- laugh or cry. In this job, you make that choice every day," Peter replied. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and paused, considering his next words carefully. “Those who choose to feel every prick of this mortal coil donae last long."

Keating listened and then nodded before continuing their progress. “Fine, but it does you- no, no, us- no favors to antagonize the Uniforms, you know." Shrugging his apology, Peter followed. He smiled as he caught snatches of the banter that flew between the members of the ERU amidst sober observations and exact measurements. He had respect for these men and women, both for their demonstrated competence and obvious sense of humor. He preferred the company of those who had considered their options and had come down on the side of laughter. In his experience, crying led to madness, so laughing was the only sane and enduring response. Granted, his was a dry wit, and like the forensics techs, filled with gallows humor, but it was what kept them all clinging tenuously to sanity.

“Friends, Colleagues, Countrymen," Peter paraphrased by way of greeting, “lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.“ In response, someone called out, “The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones." It had become something of a game between Peter and the more literate members of the team to trade Shakespearean quotes at crime scenes and several people murmured their approval and admiration to the tech who had answered. Peter also smiled and offered a slight bow to the man who had replied before turning gracefully to the tableau before him.

It was not a pretty sight. The slim body lying amongst the refuse might have once worn a handsome face, but there was no evidence of that now. Peter's demeanor turned grim and he recited softly to himself, "Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity." Hearing footsteps behind him, he looked up to see Alec Turner, the Blood Spatter Tech who had answered his earlier quote and decided to continue the game.

"Speak; I am bound to hear," Peter said, cocking his head and pulling absently at his ear.

Clearly delighted, Alec smirked and shot back, "So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear."

"What?" asked Ian as he wandered over, catching the end of their exchange. Peter turned, surprised to find Ian finally participating in their game. His amusement morphed into a full grin he shared with Alec when, based on his blank stare, it became apparent that Ian had no idea of what they were quoting. Peter took pity on his partner and turned back to Alec to continue the discussion. "So, what findings do you have for us?"

"Not much to tell as of yet, DI. Signs of blunt force trauma, he was obviously on the losing side of a fight, as evidenced by cuts and contusions on the face and hands, but as to my guess as to what killed him? Stiletto, up through the ribs and straight to the heart." Alec mimed a violent upward stabbing motion. "Pretty much bled out before he could so much as fall."

Peter nodded, surveying the large, dark stain dried around the body before them. "Which accounts for all the blood poolin' about."

"When did it happen?" Ian interjected. Alec blinked and turned back to the DS as if just remembering he was there. "Uhm, based on the condition of the body and the activity in the neighborhood- trash was collected yesterday morning- I'd hazard a guess of 24 to 36 hours at most.” The technician blinked a few times before turning his attention back to Peter.

“Anythin' else we should know, Turner?” Peter asked, rocking back on his heels slightly.

“No, not ‘til we get him back and run Toxicology reports,” Turner said, frowning. “But I promise, you'll be the first to know, Detective Inspector,” he finished, favoring him with a dark smile.

Peter nodded, hand tugging absently at his ear again, face scrunched up in thought. He took two backward steps away, inclining his head toward the technician, quoting once more, “Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you,” before turning back towards the crowd gathered across the street.

Alec Turner, evidently delighted, countered with, “Murder most foul, as in the best it is.”

In response, Peter threw over his shoulder, “Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift, as meditation or the thoughts of love, may sweep to my revenge.”

“I find thee apt,” Alec called after the DI’s retreating form, watching him rejoin the officers on the perimeter. DS Keating stood by, watching the exchange before shrugging and following Peter to the edge of the street. At his partner’s approach, DI Carlisle suggested, “You go see what else you can find out from the Uniforms and I'll go address the millin' throngs.”

 

**************

As he fumbled in his overcoat pocket for a lolly, Peter turned casually to survey the crowd of onlookers who had gathered in response to the flashing police lights. He unwrapped the sweet, put it in his mouth and started worrying it about with his tongue as he pocketed the wrapper. It was an important part of his investigations and served a dual purpose- having something in his mouth focused him, helped him to think and the incongruous image of a policeman with a child’s treat unconsciously put others at ease. It was hard to be intimidated by a man with a lollypop in hand and oftentimes, people would warm to him and tell him more information than they’d first intended to as a result. That, and he quite liked sweets. He rarely had time and had even less inclination to sit and eat a proper meal. He knew his eating habits were crap and he’d pay the price eventually, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as though he had to mind his weight, and there was no one at home to scold him about it.

Turning his attention back to the crowd, he scanned the faces before him, looking for those tell-tale signs seasoned detectives recognized instinctively. In his experience, the perpetrators themselves rarely were considerate enough to actually return to the scene of the crime, thus making his job infinitely easier: this was London, after all, not Hollywood, but that didn’t mean there weren’t clues to be found in the assembly before him. As in any mediocre drama, there was a cast of stock characters ready to take the stage. You had your Passers-By, slowing down to take a curious glance before deciding they had better places to be and better things to be doing. Next were the Nattering Nans who were naturally shocked- Shocked!- that such a thing would happen in their own neighborhood. They’d never had any trouble here at all before those awful fill-in-the-blanks moved in. Then there were the Neighborhood Watchdogs. They were the ones who would be standing around in little clumps, gesturing about, nodding sagely to each other and putting forth their own personal theories concerning the crime. Every now and then, they actually knew something useful. Peter nodded to his partner in unspoken agreement before he made to cross the street, intending to insinuate himself into their conversation when a flash of color in the grey evening mist caught his attention.

At first glance, he’d put her firmly in the Passers-By category. She’d been walking along, clearly lost in thought, barely glancing at the tumult around her when something made her start, her ginger ponytail swinging wildly in response. She stiffened slightly in shock and turned toward the crime scene before taking two careful steps away. The brick wall at her back halted her retreat. He saw her blink rapidly and cock her head to the side as something in the alley behind him drew her attention. As he ambled over towards the assembled throng, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his overcoat, he glanced about in an effort to determine what exactly was the cause of the woman's reaction. As he approached, she flinched back and it was Peter's turn to be startled as he realized the ginger's reaction was in response to him and had nothing to do with the commotion of the crime scene behind him.

Curiouser and curiouser, Peter thought as he conspicuously altered course towards the neighborhood watch. He glanced her way, eyes darting to make mental note of her face before addressing the self-appointed head of the Watch. “Gentlemen, if I might trouble you on this fine evenin',” he announced, by way of introduction. “Can any of you shed some light onto the dark deed that occurred last night, the result of which we’re currently investigatin' over yonder?” He gestured to the alley across the street with his sweet and carefully angled his body so that he could observe both the man before him and the woman beyond.

“Well, now, officer” answered the the man, pursing his lips and regarding Peter with an appraising eye, “there's always a bit of a dust-up on a Saturday night around the corner from the pubs, never paid it no mind.”

"Be that as it may, we're lookin' more into the neighborhood activities of this past Monday mornin' to Tuesday night," Peter responded, smiling amiably and pointing across the street with his lolly.

“There is sometimes aggro in the neighborhood, lads tussling about after last call, but last night seemed no different,” said the smaller man to his right, who turned and nodded his agreement to the crowd. “But this is a safe place. We’ve not had serious trouble in years.”

Peter sucked thoughtfully on his lolly and glanced about as the men spoke. Ostensibly, he was looking for signs in the crowd, people who wanted to contribute but didn’t have the credibility or status that would enable them to speak out of turn. In reality, he was curious about the woman openly staring at his profile. It was his turn to be the perpetrator now, he thought, as he stole glances in her direction.

She noticed him watching her over the head of the man talking, and the ginger ducked her head, embarrassed to have been caught looking. She bit her lower lip, shook her head slightly and made to retreat, but slowly, no longer afraid. Peter turned slightly to follow her movement and their eyes met, just for a second, and she smiled at him. _No, not at me_ , Peter corrected himself, _but in my direction_ , and he knew she had been unaware of it. She was wistful and sad and now there was a new mystery to investigate; he decided he wanted to know why.

Peter turned his attention back to the head of the Watch, both to get further information and to put the ginger at ease. “So no one heard or saw anythin' out of the ordinary in the last two days, then?” As the crowd nodded and murmured their assent to each other, Peter sighed and thought ruefully, _Of course not; that might actually be helpful_. Nodding slowly, lips curving into a resigned smile, he addressed the crowd, “Well, if anyone remembers anythin' or hears anythin', anythin' a'tall, please contact us. Any information is appreciated.”

DI Carlisle hazarded a glance back at the ginger, but she was gone. He spun slowly, surveying the crowd and looking again for a telltale flash of red, but she was nowhere to be seen. DS Keating joined him and misinterpreting his partner's dark expression, remarked, “Let me guess, no one heard or saw anything, right? It's a complete mystery.”

“Och, aye,’” Peter answered, taking a step backward and giving the crowd one last going-over before turning and following his partner back across the street. “A complete mystery- that it is,” he finished, thinking instead of the bigger conundrum, the one with red hair that had melted away into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna Noble’s thoughts were really only a few blocks away and 20 hours in the past, focused on a man she’d never met and would probably never see again. She didn’t know why; it’s not like she fancied him or anything. From what she had seen from across the street, he was just a long streak of nothing....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Thursday, 19 April 2012, 7:00 PM**

  
“And do you know what she had the nerve to say to me, then?” Nerys demanded, leaning back and crossing her arms across her tight sequined tank-top. “That little bint told me to keep my distance or she’d...”

She knew the choreography of this diatribe by heart and made the appropriate faces and sounds at the appointed times in her friend’s tirade, but her thoughts were miles away. If she were being honest with herself, Donna Noble’s thoughts were really only a few blocks north and 20 hours in the past, focused on a man she’d never met and would probably never see again. She didn’t know why; it’s not like she fancied him or anything. From what she had seen from across the street, he was just a long streak of nothing, and anyway, she’d given up on men, had stopped looking for love after her marriage had ended. It had been a little over three years since she awoke one day and realized that almost two years of her life were gone, missing entirely from her memory, and nothing she did had filled in the void left behind. Whenever someone mentioned something that she had missed, some public event or personal milestone she should be aware of, Donna fell back on her habitual excuse, that she’d been traveling, to cover up her ignorance. It was easier to refer to her ‘Extended Holiday Abroad’ rather than trying to explain focal retrograde amnesia.

She must have missed her cue in Nerys’ drama, Donna realized, because suddenly Nerys focused her vitriol on her. “Oh, are you still on about PC Plod from last night? Honestly, Donna, why don’t you set your sights on something a bit more, I dunno, manageable?” Nerys sneered across the table at her. Donna rolled her eyes and gave her friend a withering stare. That was Nerys up one side and down the other, she reflected bitterly before considering the truth of her words. Really, though, she was right; what business did she have focusing on a man she’d only seen at a distance? Yes, he’d regarded at her with something that looked like interest last night, but he was a policeman interviewing potential witnesses to a crime he was trying to solve and anyone on the street might have been able to provide information. It didn’t mean anything at all.

As Nerys launched headlong into Act 2, Donna reflected bitterly on something her mother always told her: You get the friends you deserve. Donna absently wondered what sin she’d committed to end up with Nerys. Maybe she killed someone, she mused- it’s not like she could remember it, anyway. And that was the crux of all her problems- Donna couldn’t remember. She’d lost everything in her travels. She snorted to herself: you were supposed to make new memories on holiday, not lose them. She had panicked at first when she had started to realize the extent of her loss, especially after her mother had pointedly refused to tell her anything about what had happened. All she would say was that Donna had suffered an accident while she’d been out of the country, but she was all right now and Donna should just let it go. As if. Donna had never just let anything go in her life: why should she start now? Worse than her mother, by a thousand times, though, was the way her grandfather had started treating her. He couldn’t look at her or talk to her properly anymore. He’d get the strangest, saddest expression in his eyes when she tried to explain how lost she felt, and she knew- she KNEW- he knew something, but wouldn’t tell her.

But just as conditions as home were becoming unbearable, something unexpected happened. Donna fell headlong into a fairy tale. She met Shaun Temple and he made her smile. He’d shyly flirted with her and she’d fallen in love with the sweet, gentle, caring man who plainly worshiped her. For the first time since her memory loss, she started to rebuild her life. True, they didn’t have much money, but they had each other and they’d manage. She had thought her wedding day would be the pinnacle of her life, that she’d never be able to be any happier, and then, to top it all off, she’d received a winning lottery ticket with a triple rollover as a wedding present. She never did find out who the ticket was from, and even after taxes and sharing a large chunk with both Shaun's family and her own, they still never had to worry about money again. She had it all, and for a time, she was well and truly happy.

And then one day, she wasn't. At first, she thought it was just the letdown after all the excitement had passed, so she and Shaun had gone on a trip. She’d had the strangest sense of deja vu on the streets of Pompeii and she ended up standing, transfixed, in the courtyard of a home that had been buried in the ash for nearly two thousand years. When they'd returned home, it was just as bad. Something would catch her attention- the sound of a dust cart lumbering by or the shriek of a lorry’s brakes- and it would stop her in her tracks and set her to scanning the crowd for a face she had no way to recognize. Then there were the little things, things that would set her to crying for no reason: the sound of an insect, trapped and buzzing at the glass, the Persil ball in the laundry or a plate of cooked spaghetti in the kitchen, and once, when she’d taken her engagement ring in to be cleaned, the sight of her own wedding band on her finger.

Grocery shopping was an ordeal: she'd find herself buying more bananas than she and Shaun could possibly ever eat, but for some reason it was important to always have them around, which was strange, because she wasn't especially fond of them herself. With the amount of banana cupcakes and banana bread and banana pancakes she'd forced upon poor Shaun, it was a miracle that he didn’t absolutely detest bananas in the end. And she hated the sight of both plungers and kitchen whisks.

Then there was Shaun, her perfect man: gorgeous, adored her, and never spoke a word of disagreement to her. But something was missing- it was as if he had no life, no fire, and one day, Donna was horrified to find that she was bored with him. She began to pick arguments with Shaun, trying to force him into declaring an opinion contrary to her own, but no matter what she did, he'd agree with her. It wasn't as if she were an intellectual giant herself, but really! She was profoundly depressed to realize that the only real passion in her marriage took place in the bedroom and nowhere else.

The last straw, though, was the Girl’s Night Out at the George when she'd sat there, absently drinking a Crabbies, and munching on nuts. She'd tried one of the little hors d'oeuvres someone at the table had ordered, tiny toast points with some kind of fish, and suddenly, her head had spun and she'd dropped like a stone. When she finally came to with a massive headache, she couldn't stop sobbing. Shaun had come running, desperate to help, but he had no idea what to do. Donna had ended up comforting him and at that moment, she realized what she had to do.

That was the beginning of the end of her fairy tale. In the end, she'd let Shaun go, as much for his sake as her own. He'd tried to refuse the money from the lottery, but Donna had insisted. It had been a wedding present, after all, and the least he deserved after the hell she'd put him through. She still had enough money left that she didn't need to work, but she continued to temp just to keep herself busy and have regular human contact without having to get too close to anyone. She liked being helpful, staying around just long enough to resolve some emergency, then flying off to the next crisis, never hanging about long enough to miss anyone or be missed.

She'd taken to walking regularly, sprinting at intervals for both the cardiac benefits and the adrenaline high it provided. And through it all, Donna kept looking. She was always scanning the crowds, looking for someone or something, but she couldn't remember what it was that she was searching for. After she and Shaun broke up, her grandfather had become sadder and sadder and her mother had become even more strident, if that were possible. Donna assumed they were disappointed in her and what she’d done, even though Wilf steadfastly denied it. But he never again invited her up the hill to look at the stars, and she was heartbroken at the loss of her close connection to him. In the end she found herself alone with only Nerys as a friend.

“Donna? Donna, Earth to Donna....” Nerys whined, her elbow on the table, wrist cocked, gesturing at her friend with a half-empty glass held limply in her hand. “Where is your head these days? ” Reluctantly returning to the here and now and Nerys' continued monologue, Donna sighed heavily and nestled herself back into the corner of the booth they frequented. She loved it and was grateful that the other patrons had conceded it to them without complaint. Tucked into a little alcove to the right of the bar, the small round table could comfortably accommodate four, but no more, and afforded the best view of the George IV. From her vantage point, Donna could see not only the entire room, but also the sidewalk leading up to the building through the long windows out front. She only had to turn her head to look into the courtyard at back. She didn’t know why it was important to her, but she felt safe here and she liked watching the other customers who frequented the pub.

“So, like I was saying,” Nerys continued, refocusing on her favorite topic, “I told her, ‘Sweetie, you’d better...’ ”. Donna stared down into her pint, resigned to another pointless evening filled with Nerys havering on about one trivial thing or another when she felt ... something. A odd, light shiver passed through her and her head jerked up, looking to see who’d entered the pub and let in a draft. Donna’s heart stuttered as time rippled and flowed around her and she reached out a hand to shush the prattling coming from across the table. "Nerys!" she hissed, eyes riveted to the doorway.

Annoyed at the interruption, Nerys huffed and searched the bar for the reason she’d been cut off. Following the line of Donna’s gaze, she was momentarily taken aback. In all the time since she’d returned from her ‘holiday’, Donna had never so much as given a man in the George a second glance. Nerys had begun to think that maybe, in her missing year, Donna had switched teams and her marriage to Shaun had been a sham to throw people off, but as time passed and Donna never made a pass at her, she had abandoned that notion. And now, here she was, barely breathing and staring open-mouthed at the lanky form of a man who paused at the entrance, cataloging his surroundings.

Nerys took inventory quickly, mentally calculating the cost of his wardrobe and drew a swift conclusion. “Is that him, then? Your Tall Glass of Water from last night? Your ‘Dream Man’?” she sneered at Donna. “ He might as well scream ‘copper’, standin’ there like he owns the place. Oh, and he can’t be very good at his job, either, judgin’ by the state of him,” she continued, barely stopping for breath. “They must pay him what he’s worth, which isn’t much. That coat’s got to be at least three years old, and he picked it up at Asda on sale to begin with.”

Nerys’ stream of snark continued unabated and Donna wondered absently if they were looking at the same man. Granted, he wasn’t the sort who would stop conversation as he entered the room, but when you did take notice of him, you wondered why everyone else was still talking. He walked to the bar with easy grace and Donna found her eyes following him. He gestured for the barkeep and there was something about his slender hand that made her palm itch. She followed it with her eyes as he reached to brush the hair back from his forehead -he needed a trim, she decided- and he sniffed as he surveyed the pub with a deceptively casual glance that took in every detail. And his eyes, she thought, dark chocolate eyes you could fall into and never, ever hit bottom.

The barman brought him his pint and he leaned back against the bar, unruffled, unhurried and when Donna looked at him, the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders. She stared at him and was shocked to feel a tickling in her nose and her eyes began to water and all she could think was that she had finally found Home. _Which was totally and absolutely ridiculous_ , she groused mentally, shaking her head and refocusing on the man standing at the bar. What was she, a bloody schoolgirl? She needed to get a grip on herself, right here, right now. Donna braced her hands against the table and drew in a deep, steading breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, preparing to return her attention to Nerys, but looking up, she realized he was staring straight at her.

And then he wasn't. He turned his attention back to the bar without so much as a hint of recognition, and the feeling was gone. _It was just my imagination_ , she thought, then smiled sadly to herself as she completed the lyric in her head, _runnin' away with me_. She granted herself the luxury of one more glance in his direction before returning her attention back to reality and she almost missed the tiny flicker her way of the eyes of the barkeep her Man of Mystery was addressing.

 

**********

Want to see Donna’s pub, the George IV?

The George IV  
185 High Road  
Chiswick  
London  
W4 2DR  
[George the IV Pub, Chiswick](http://georgeiv.co.uk/gallery/)  
(And yes, we’re Googling Bastards....)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Peter begins to investigate a murder, he finds his investigation taking an unexpected, personal turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: My life wouldn't be complete without WhosInTheAttic. She has put up with more than any human should be expected to in the course of this fic, and has contributed to it in both writing and beta-ing my own poor attempts. Any and all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: Donna and Peter both belong to others, except in my own twisted version of what should be. My Great and Glorious plan is to post at least once a week, and always on Friday. If I can get it all on track, I'll post more frequently.

**Thursday, 19 April 2012, 8:00 PM**

Donna was sure he’d seen her; really, properly seen her, before he turned back to the bar and engaged Lewis in conversation. For that split second, the world had gone silent, but now that his attention was focused elsewhere, the cacophony of everyday life roared back around her. _What the bloody hell was that?!?_ , she thought as she realized she had been holding her breath. _Whatever it had been, it was gone now_ , she reflected, blinking rapidly before turning back to Nerys.

“What's your interest in our Donna, DI?” _Our Donna_. Peter didn’t miss the protective tone of warning in the barkeep's voice as he’d identified himself as an officer of the law and asked about the woman in the booth to his right. He raised both hands and ducked his head, smirking slightly. "Strictly professional, I can assure you. Nothin’ untoward,” Peter leaned on the bar as he reclaimed his drink. “I'm investigatin’ a man’s murder that took place night before last, 'round the corner." Peter removed a photo of the victim from his coat pocket and handed it over with an unspoken question. "I'm technically off-duty, but thought I'd ask around a bit on my way home."

Lewis took the photo and examined it thoughtfully before shaking his head and returning it to Peter who tucked it back into his coat pocket. "Well, unless he died of a severe tongue-lashin’, I can guarantee our Donna had nothing to do with it!" Lewis asserted, nodding decisively, as though that settled the issue. “She might have a temper on her, that one, but I’ve yet to see her unleash it on an undeserving soul.” He braced himself against the bar separating him from the Detective Inspector and fixed Peter with an appraising eye.

“Nah, the thought never crossed my mind,” Peter casually assured him. “Just lookin’ for anyone who might have seen somethin', is all. I thought I might have seen her passin’ by the crime scene last night.” He lifted his pint, then hesitated a moment. “You seem to know her pretty well. What can you tell me?” As the man considered his words before responding, Peter took advantage of the distraction to study him. Late 20‘s to early 30‘s, compact but slightly burly, he had the look of a weekend footballer who’d been good at it in school. When Lewis glanced over at Donna, deciding what to share with the DI, Peter saw the attitude of a little brother defending his sister’s honor cross his face and he cataloged the reaction for future reference.

“Our Donna’s had a tough time of it. She don’t need more trouble,” Lewis finally ventured. He spoke in even, measured tones and Peter decided he liked the man. Loyal, honest and discreet, and quick with the drinks to boot: he was the perfect man for the job behind the bar.

“Trouble?” Peter mused by way of invitation to continue. “What sort of trouble?” He shifted position, leaning on his elbow, chin in hand, two fingers splayed carelessly across his cheekbone.

“Not the kind you’d be interested in. Just personal stuff,” Lewis declared. He folded his arms across his chest before continuing. “And she’s a private one. You’d do well to stay out of the Throne Room.”

Peter raised his eyebrows and a tiny smile entered his voice. “Throne Room?” he queried.

Lewis’ defensive manner crumbled and he smiled slightly. He nodded discreetly at the table where Donna and Nerys sat. “Just what we all call it when the Red Queen and the White Queen hold court over there,” he explained.

“So, she’s a regular customer, then?” Peter lifted his pint and shot a covert glance in the direction of the indicated booth. He turned back to Lewis and found the table reflected in the mirror behind the bar. The ginger from the previous night had turned her body away from him and was trying to pay attention to the blonde sharing the table, but she kept sneaking furtive glances over her shoulder as if she couldn’t help herself.

“Lives nearby, around the corner about five blocks over in an old flat above the shops near Turnham Green, and she’s in here ‘bout three to four nights a week. The White Queen joins her on Wednesdays and usually on Fridays, ‘lessen she’s got a date. Donna’s got family nearby, but I get the feeling they don’t always get on,” Lewis said, warming to Peter and the topic. “She’s been around here longer than I have, and I’ve been here four years now. I remember her from when I first started. She’d come in here with a regular flock and they’d all carry on something awful.” He raised a hand to scratch his cheek thoughtfully. “But then she disappeared for about a year. Lost her fiancee in some sort of accident and went away on holiday. When she did come back, though, she was different. Sommat bad happened to her then, but she’s never spoken of it.” Peter nodded, considering all he’d just been told and comparing it to the haunted look he’d seen on the woman's face the night before. He started to raise his pint again and frowned down into the glass, surprised to find it in need of a refill.

Abruptly shifting demeanor, Lewis’s eyes narrowed as he realized all that he’d inadvertently revealed to Peter. “If you’ll forgive me, Detective, it doesn’t sound like you’re just investigating a murder...,” he growled.

Taken aback, Peter looked down into his empty glass and pondered both the man’s insinuation and his own motives. He smiled slowly and tugged at his ear before answering. “Well,” he admitted, “that might not be the only reason...”

Lewis pursed his lips, shifted his jaw to the side and leaned back slightly, fixing Peter with a cautionary glare. “You be careful, DI,” He placed a full pint on the bar before Peter and gave him a pointed look, “for your own sake and for hers.” Peter nodded his understanding to the man, chastened.

Donna watched as the policeman at the bar picked up his glass and took a drink. In her mind’s eye, she saw the two of them sharing a pint...at some street fair? _He should be laughing_ , she thought as her respiratory system stuttered again, _and I should be with him?_   Donna’s breathing resumed and she was oddly calm. _Of course I should_ , she realized, _where else could I be?_

It was the way she looked at him that drew Peter’s attention back to her, like she had something to say but had no idea where to begin. It was a look he’d seen on the face of a thousand different witnesses, the one that shouted, _Hold up, maybe I did see something, maybe this is important?_ She was clearly mulling over something and he decided to move closer to give her an opportunity to speak, but not directly enough to spook her. Course decided upon, he turned back to the bar to settle his account before heading over to seek an audience with Her Majesties.

Before she realized what she was doing, Donna stood and moved towards the man who had monopolized her thoughts since he’d entered the George. She ignored her companion’s cries of protest, and Nerys realized her appointment with Donna had abruptly ended for the evening. She gathered her belongings in a huff and was almost tempted to stay to watch Donna make a fool of herself, but decided against it. Instead, she shot out a hand and grabbed Donna’s arm before hissing, “He may be rumpled, but he’s still out of your league, girl.” She was rewarded by a flicker of pain in Donna’s eyes before the fire returned. “Nerys, grow up, why don’t you?” Donna spat at her, shaking herself from Nerys’ grasp. “Unlike you, not everyone is on the prowl,” she snapped and continued across the pub to Peter. Nerys gave her one more disgusted glance before she left the George in a huff.

 

**********

"Excuse me, I know this sounds like a chat up line, but- do you know me?"

At the sound of her voice, Peter turned back from paying his tab and was surprised to find Donna standing right behind him. She looked up at him with a strange mixture of emotions playing across her face: trepidation, familiarity, humiliation and amusement flittered and died, replaced by frank curiosity. He assumed she had seen him at the crime scene, later thought of something that might be useful in the investigation and now she was looking for an excuse to talk to him. But then the odd phrasing hit him and Peter stopped, regarding her seriously.

“Hmmm, no: I cannae say that I do,” he replied after studying her for a few seconds. He risked a glance down at her ring finger before continuing, “But I’d like to.” Donna hadn’t missed his discreet peek at her hand and almost smiled as he asked, “Miss....?”

“Noble, Donna Noble,” she replied and she just caught herself before she blurted out, _shaken, not stirred_. She smiled sadly and glanced down at her hand again before raising her eyes back to meet his. “No, I guess you’re right. Not even I could forget meetin' someone like you...,” she trailed off, then shook her head as if to rouse herself. It was an odd choice of words again and Peter's eyes widened slightly, puzzled. She made as if to go before turning to him politely. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, then...”

“Peter,” he said abruptly, “it’s Peter Carlisle.”

Donna fixed him with a hard stare and for a split second, Peter thought she would spin on her heel and stalk away before her expression abruptly softened into something close to faint amusement. "All right then, Detective ... Inspector?" she relented, the last word a lilting question that he answered with the ghost of a smile and an inclination of the head.

"You've seen me at work, then. You have me at a disadvantage, Miss Noble," Peter replied, smile now firmly in place.

Donna responded with a hoot of laughter and reached for a coaster lying on the counter to check a sudden impulse to slap his shoulder. Deciding that she liked this game, she regarded him for a moment before replying, "Nah, I don't think that's even possible. The way you've been pumpin' Lewis there for information since you came in, it's even money that you probably know the life stories of everyone in the room." She leaned sideways on the bar, facing him and for the first time, Peter saw that her smile reached her eyes. "That's the only reason I'm talking to you, you do realize," she continued, jerking a thumb in the barkeep's direction. "He's your character witness. Lewis here, he can spot a bad egg at a hundred paces, toss 'em right out on their ear before they have time to raise a ruckus. He talks to you; you're all right," she finished, nodding. Donna was really enjoying herself now and she felt like one of the hard-boiled dames in the detective fiction she'd developed a taste for after spending a month temping in the offices of an online specialty bookshop.

It was Peter’s turn to smile now at the unexpected banter. "Just doin' my job, ma'am," he answered with an exaggerated drawl and he instantly wished he could pull the words back, to retrieve each one from where they hung in the air between them. Donna’s face fell infinitesimally, the laughter gone from her eyes and she was all business.

"What is it that I can do for you, then, DI?" Donna stated in a matter-of-fact tone that screamed _playtime is over_. Peter kicked himself mentally and set about winning her back.

“I was hopin' you could help me, Miss Noble. There’s been a murder and I find myself in need of assistance from the public.” Her expression softened slightly and in imitation of his earlier gesture, she inclined her head, granting him permission to continue.

“Last night, this man was found murdered in an alley, around the corner and about four blocks away, a straight shot between the George and where you live,” he began, retrieving the photo from his pocket. At this, Donna shot a look at Lewis that would have killed a lesser mortal. He had the good grace to look apologetic and a bit unnerved and Peter wondered if Lewis had moved into the 'deserving of a tongue-lashing' category in Donna's books. “We think he was murdered the night before and his killer stashed his body behind some rubbish bins there. We’re just checkin' to see if anyone noticed somethin' that might help out in the investigation.” Despite herself, Donna reached for the dead man’s picture. Peter watched her carefully as she inspected the photo.

“This poor thing laid there all night and all day, alone?” she whispered as she traced the dead man’s features with her index finger. “Oh, that's terrible, dyin' with no one even there to hold his hand.” Peter observed the faraway look in her eyes as Donna felt snow brush her cheeks and she heard the faint strains of a sad, plaintive song that filled her with longing for a moment. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply until the feeling passed and, returning to the waking world, she handed the picture back to Peter. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize the poor man,” Donna offered, her mind still billions of miles away.

“You’ve never seen him around, then?” Peter prodded gently.

“Dunno, really, but I know I don’t remember him,” she answered. Suddenly, something clicked. “Uhm, Dectective Inspector, when do you think this happened?” Donna asked dubiously.

“Tuesday evening, between about 7:00 and 11:00 PM, accordin' to the boys in the lab,” Peter replied, studying her face.

“Now, I’m not sayin’ this is important or that this is gonna help,” she said slowly, chewing on her bottom lip, “but on my way home from here that night I heard a crash from that alley. I was a bit startled, but I didn’t hear or see anythin' else goin’ on, so I assumed it was cats.” Peter nodded his agreement and waited for her to continue. “Anyway, when I got nearly level with the alley, this man stumbled out. I didn't see his face and I figured he was drunk, the way he was lurchin' about, so I just stopped and let him get ahead of me. Better him in front of me where I could see him, I figured, than him behind me, ‘ya know?”

He smiled at her impeccable logic and commented, “Good thinkin'. Better safe...”

Donna huffed a bit before tossing the unfinished comment back at him, “He’d be the one who was sorry if he messed with me!” Peter grinned at her cheek as he realized she probably wasn’t exaggerating.

“So, as he left the alley, reelin' around, I saw he was clutching at his side, with both hands, about here,” she indicated her left side, just above her waist. She bit her lip, trying to remember clearly and be precise in her speech. “When he got to the corner, right there at Gable House, he put his hand up- um, his right hand- high on the glass to steady himself before he headed out, goin' north. When he left, I saw he’d left a bit of a smudge of somethin' on the glass. Again, I don’t know what it was or if it’s still there, or even if it’s important, but maybe....” she shrugged, and regarded him carefully.

"Can you provide me with a description of this man you observed?" Peter asked hopefully. "And were you to see him again, do you feel confident you could provide a positive identification?"

Donna considered for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Detective" she said, her voice tinged with genuine remorse. "There's no way I would trust my shoddy memory where a man's freedom is at stake."

Peter nodded grimly, stroking his chin for a moment before he responded, “Thank you, Miss Noble, for takin' the time to help me out with this. You’re right, it may be nothin', but it may be exactly what we need to tie a suspect to the scene. Either way, I’m in your debt.” She smiled shyly, obviously pleased at his reaction to her recollections.

He moved away from the bar to make a phone call to forensics, making arrangements to meet as soon as possible to investigate the possible lead Ms. Noble had given them. He had to turn his back to hide his amusement as Donna accosted Lewis behind the bar, “And you!  What were you thinkin’? I don’t care if he is a policeman: what were you thinkin’ tellin’ him everything about me? This isn’t over, Sunshine, not by a long shot,’ Donna groused at him, wagging a finger in his direction.

His call completed, Peter turned back to the bar and saw that Donna had apparently decided their interview was concluded and had begun to retreat back to the safety of her table with a tiny sigh. He watched her move away and with every step she took, she seemed to shrink back into herself and disengage from the world. The vibrant, funny and spirited woman he’d just been talking to was disappearing before his eyes and he considered his options before following her over to the Throne Room. She sank into her customary chair and started violently when she turned to find Peter standing on the other side of the table, waiting for her.

“Miss Noble,” he began quietly, “ I was wonderin’: would you be willin’ to meet with me sometime tomorrow? I may have a few more questions for you to help me with after we’ve processed anythin’ we may find where you’ve indicated we should look. Are you free tomorrow afternoon, say about 2:00?”

For just a moment, she turned her face from him, looking at the table, and Peter thought he might have seen the barest hint of a smile. When she raised her head back to him, the smile had vanished, but there was life in her eyes and the teasing, playful note had returned to her voice. “Of course,” she responded. “Anythin' I can do to help, Detective Inspector.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna agrees to meet DI Carlisle for a coffee as part of a follow-up interview. If this meeting is strictly business, why is she so nervous?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Part 4: Friday, 20 April, 2012, 1:40 PM**

“It's just a coffee, just coffee, just coffee, that’s it, nothin' more than coffee,” Donna Noble chanted under her breath as she stood in front of her closet, chewing her thumb. She was meeting DI Carlisle for coffee in twenty minutes, but she had no illusions as to why. She was a potential witness in a murder case he was investigating, and that was it. She'd seen enough procedurals on the telly to know it was common practice to interview witnesses several times in the hope that, given time, some crucial detail would be revealed and the entire case would fall into place and solve itself. As an added bonus, Donna reflected, the DI seemed to be one of those men for whom flirting was both a means of communication and an integral part of their charisma. He’d certainly succeeded in charming her at the George the previous evening, more than she wanted to admit, and she thought she might have actually dreamed about him last night. The fact that she could rarely remember her dreams anymore with any sort of clarity was dead frustrating and just another thing she put down to her ‘accident’.

She looked over her shoulder at where the detritus of half a dozen outfits that had been tried and found wanting was thrown carelessly across her bed and her uncertainty grew with every discarded garment added to the pile. She remembered a quote she’d read somewhere recently in a magazine: _Style is a simple way of saying complicated things_. The problem was, Donna had no idea what she wanted her clothes to say. She had long ago given up on the idea of dressing to impress and now she dressed for her own comfort and convenience. She still had an eye for color and knew how to put together an attractive business look, but it had been forever since she'd needed a casual outfit. When she went to the George, she usually wore whatever she’d worn to work that day, or sometimes just jeans, a plain black jumper and simple flats or trainers.

Taking a deep breath, Donna considered her options. If she were to show up to a routine second interview too dressed up, he would think that she thought it was a date. On the other hand, if she wasn't dressed up enough, he might think she was frumpy, or if he was interested in her, he'd think she wasn’t interested in him. And the sudden realization that she was actually worried about this brought her up short, because she most certainly was not interested in him. She was NOT. Nope. In no way was she personally interested in or attracted to Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle. Was she?

She sighed and, hands on hips, made a decision- she was not going to try and be someone other than who she was. She’d tried that in the past and it had only brought her pain and disappointment. Either the Inspector would like her for who she was or this- whatever it was, and she wasn't saying it was anything, **thank you very much** \- would be over before it began. She snatched her best-fitting pair of jeans from the closet and a simple purple jumper and slammed the closet doors shut in exasperation. She was over-thinking this and no good could come of that.

Donna grabbed her purse and checked her hair one more time as she left her flat, glancing down at her phone to check the time. She mentally calculated how long it would take her to walk to Maison Blanc, the little cafe she and the DI had agreed upon last night. It would take ten minutes, if she window-shopped a bit on the way, five if she did what she really wanted to do and walked straight there. She checked the impulse to run, forcing herself to slow down- while she didn’t want to be late, she damned well wouldn’t be early, either. She wasn’t a randy teenager and it wouldn’t do to go about acting like one. The slower she walked to the cafe, though, the faster her heart raced and she was dismayed to find that her hand was trembling when she reached for the door handle.

Peter had been sitting at the table for almost half an hour when Donna stepped into the cafe, right on time. He was here for the obligatory second interview, the one made to give a witness time to process what they might have seen in a new light; time to sleep on it, so to speak. That's what he'd been telling himself all morning, anyway. He wasn't here for any personal reasons- at all. He'd learned his lesson in Blackpool and had no intention of needing remediation, of getting involved with someone from a case, no matter how intriguing she was or how much he'd found himself thinking of her ginger hair and how lovely it would look spread across his pillow. No, this was just business, he chided himself firmly, until he looked up and saw her.

Donna paused barely inside the doorway and searched the room, glancing about, bottom lip between her teeth. He was absurdly relieved to note that she seemed a bit anxious until she found him at the small table near the windows and her face lit up before relaxing into a smile. Peter grinned in response momentarily before he remembered this was an official appointment and dialed his expression back to a polite smile. He nodded a greeting to her from across the room, standing as she approached the table. He was suddenly unsure of what to do next: should he just sit back down when she came to the table, hold the chair for her or shake her hand? He was saved the trouble of making a decision when she stopped abruptly, looking at the large platter of pastries he’d ordered on the table between them.

“So, Detective Inspector, did you skip breakfast or do you always plan on enterin' a sugar coma midday?” Donna asked as she sat down, obviously amused.

Reclaiming his seat, Peter smiled back, suddenly a bit bashful, and replied, “ I didnae know what you’d like, so I took the liberty of orderin' an assortment."

Donna ducked her head and looked at the table again, then rolled her eyes and laughed. “An assortment. Is that what they’re callin' it now, when you order two of everythin' on the menu?” Just as Peter started to retort, the waitress walked over.

“Well, nice to see you,” she said to Donna. “We missed you this morning. Not working today, then?”

Donna turned to answer and without thinking, reached across the table and lightly touched Peter’s arm. It was the unconscious gesture of a friend asking a friend to wait, to be patient for just a moment, and Peter forced himself not to react. Maybe she was one of those touchy-feeley people for whom this was just what they did, but that didn't tally with the profile he'd been building of the woman across the table out of habit. _Another clue, then_ , he thought, _to file away for future perusal_.

“Alice! It’s nice to see you,” Donna replied. “No, not workin' today. I’m just enjoyin' a day off.”

“I can see that,” Alice retorted, eyebrow raised and regarding Peter openly. She glanced down to Donna’s hand resting on Peter’s arm and fought to hide a smile. “What can I get you today, Donna? Coffee or tea?”

Following Alice’s gaze, Donna quickly pulled her hand back and said quietly, “Tea, please.”

The consummate professional, Alice pretended not to notice. “Your usual, then?”

“Yes, that’d be lovely, thanks,” Donna replied. She smiled and nodded to Alice as she left the table, but inside, Donna was wondering, _What was I thinking? What must he think?_ In a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation, Donna cast about for a safe topic of conversation. “So,” she began awkwardly, “anything new to report, DI?”

Peter looked briefly at the spot her hand had occupied before turning his full attention back to Donna. He'd noticed the faint color in her cheeks as she answered Alice and decided to pretend she hadn’t touched him- but she had, and he wondered what that might mean. "As we speak, the forensics team is analyzin' blood we found, right where you indicated,” he replied, reaching for a pastry. “Not only that, we were able to lift several clear fingerprints left in the blood. Someone got very careless- we're hopin' the blood is our victim's and the fingerprints would then naturally be those of the perpetrator. We’re confident this will save us numerous tedious hours of legwork, in addition to giving us a solid lead and a way to tie someone to the scene of the crime, thanks to you and your observations.” He tore off part of the Pain au Chocolat he’d claimed for himself and popped it into his mouth. As he reached for his coffee, he noticed a smudge of chocolate left on his hand and without thinking, he briefly stuck the pad of his thumb in his mouth and licked it clean.

Donna watched, fascinated, before she realized she was gawking at him openmouthed. Luckily, his attention was on his pastry and he hadn’t noticed. Donna’s blush deepened and she looked away nervously, “It was nothin’. It was just me bein’ in the wrong place at the right time,” she murmured, twisting her napkin back and forth. "I just live up the street, after all." She glanced up at him and was surprised when she couldn’t catch her breath properly. _Oh, God, what am I doing here? What was I thinking?_ Donna thought desperately. _I’ve just walked in and already made a fool of myself. How quickly can I get out of here?_ When her discomfort was in danger of becoming more than she could bear, she blurted out, "Is that it, then? Did you need anythin' else from me, Detective Inspector, or am I free to go?"

Peter noticed her ragged breathing and was afraid she’d hyperventilate and pass out if she continued. He wasn’t exactly sure of the source of her discomfort, but he was determined to put her at ease. “If you've nothin' to add to your observations, that's everythin' of a professional nature, Ms. Noble. I donae imagine we'll need your testimony in court or for you to identify anyone in a line-up. DNA is DNA and it was found in the vicinity of the crime. Hopefully, we'll be able to close the book on this one soon." He paused for a moment and looked back at the sweets on the table between them. "But it seems a shame to let all this go to waste,” he said, indicating the tray with a nod of his head. "Will you no stay and finish your tea with me?" As if on cue, Alice delivered Donna's order with a knowing smile and quickly made herself scarce.

Donna clutched her cup, fidgeting with the lid and looking around the restaurant desperately, anywhere and at anything, except him. Peter thought back to her initial reaction to his presence and, weighing it against her present state, decided to change tack. He fell back on his years of experience interrogating reluctant witnesses and decided to give her a topic most people could warm to. “Tell me about yourself, Donna,” he said quietly, crossing his arms on the table, waiting for her to relax with a patient smile. When she didn't respond, he looked at her appraisingly, considered the pastry display in front of him, then pointed at the almond croissant. She frowned at him, puzzled, until his smile became a smirk and he pushed a small plate across the table bearing the pastry he'd selected for her.

Donna relented and accepted his offering with a bemused expression. “Oh, there’s not much to tell....I’m sure you heard everything of interest last night from Lewis,” she answered wanly. She felt the beginnings of that odd prickling feeling in her nose and she knew her eyes were moments away from welling up but she had no earthly idea why. _Lord, he's gonna think I'm a guilty suspect if this keeps up_ , she thought and the idea amused her enough that she was able to smile at him.

Donna bowed her head for a moment again before looking back up to finally meet his steady gaze. Every time she moved her head, the sunlight brightened her ginger curls and he wondered why he'd never really taken notice of redheads before. Blondes usually caught his attention first, but he was surprised to find himself reassessing his preference. Even more surprising, however, was Donna’s obvious reluctance to talk about herself. Most people, given even half a chance, would haver on and on about themselves until they either lost consciousness or their audience. Donna was obviously not most people, Peter realized, when she didn’t fill the growing silence between them. Instead, she pretended to be interested in the almond croissant, tearing it into progressively smaller pieces.

“No, Donna, Lewis did tell me some things about you, true, but he was careful and respectful of your privacy," he told her in a calm and steady voice. "Donae be too hard on him. After all, the badge carries a bit of weight, and I was askin' questions. Mostly about you, since I’d seen you at the scene of the crime.” When Donna ‘s eyes snapped back to his at this revelation, he clarified in the same placid manner. “And you looked like you had somethin' to say." Peter paused and considered his next words very carefully before continuing. "But I find myself in the curious position of wantin' to know all the things Lewis doesn’t know."

"What?" Donna blurted out, unsure of how to continue. Her thoughts raced- _He can't be serious, can he?  Men don't say things like that to me, especially drop-dead gorgeous ones- and where did **THAT** come from? I must be thick to think that. He can’t think I had something to do with all this?!?_ -but all she could manage was an affronted and less-than-eloquent, "Oi! What's with all these insinuations, Sherlock! Am I under suspicion or somethin’?" She glared at him, all blazing indignation as she pushed her plate back across the table, but in the depths of her eyes, Peter saw a tiny flare of pain and confusion.

His answering smile was gentle and amused, and he cocked his head to the side, pulling at his ear as he responded. "No, of course no, I’m just intrigued. I only have half the story, if that much. And Miss Noble," he added quietly, “if I didnae make it clear earlier, the formal portion of our interview is concluded. I was just curious about your reaction to me that night on the street. Because that’s what made you stop suddenly, wasn’t it? Seeing me?”

Chastened, Donna hesitated, then blurted out, “I’m sorry, Detective Inspector. My outburst was uncalled for. But that’s me all over, isn’t it?” Peter could sense the despair rolling off her in waves and he was surprised to feel his heart lurch in sympathy deep in his chest.

“Donna, my name is Peter,” he stated simply and she rewarded him with stunned silence and a look of frank wonder.

When she remembered how to talk, Donna stammered quietly, “I...I..there's really not much more to tell than you already know....Peter. I was married once-he was sweet, but it just didn't work out- and engaged once before that. He...died in an accident.” At Peter’s questioning look, Donna clarified, “Anaphylactic shock from a spider bite and he couldn’t get treatment in time, I was told.” She looked wistfully at him, then continued. “No siblings, no real past....," she trailed off before she could add _no real future._

Another odd phrase, Peter reflected before deciding to pursue it this time. “What did you mean, 'you were told'?  Did he die out of country or somethin'? You werenae there?” Donna hesitated a moment and Peter was afraid his questions had been awkward and she’d pull back again.

Donna slowly exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Sorry, Detec...Peter,” she corrected. “I’m missin' nearly two years of my life. I’m sufferin' from what the medical profession labels Focal Retrograde Amnesia, which is a fancy way of sayin' I can't remember big chunks of what happened between my first engagement and about three years back. Ya know that whole ‘Planets in the Sky’ episode?” she queried, pointing at him. He nodded in fascination and she continued.

“I missed the whole thing. I woke up on my bed, fully clothed, and my mobile was ringin' and that was it. When I went downstairs, I found a strange man talkin' to my family, John Smith, and I didn’t pay him any mind at the time. You see, I didn’t realize then how much time I’d lost,” she paused, wandering momentarily in her thoughts. She roused herself and continued, “And it wasn’t until much later that I thought about him again. I heard my grandfather talkin' to my mother about him later on and he called him the doctor, so I put two and two together and figured he might know what happened to me. When I was walkin' home the other night and saw you?  Well....I thought you might be Dr. Smith and that you might know somethin' of what happened to me.  I was goin' to walk over and talk to you, until I heard your voice, that is. With that accent, I realized straight away you couldn’t be him...” she shrugged and smiled apologetically.

When Peter kept looking at her expectantly, Donna relented and continued. “The psychiatrists say it’s a reaction to the shock of losing my fiancee the way I did, but so many things just don’t fit. My friends told me I’d just disappeared and no one saw hide nor hair of me for months and months. And my family’s been even less help- whenever I try to find out some information, or start askin' questions, or, heaven help me, try and find Dr. Smith, they just go barmy on me.” She stared off and there it was again, that wistful, sad air that had caught his attention that night on the street.

“What do you remember, Donna? Maybe that will give us a clue as to where to start?” Peter offered, considering her words.

Lost in her own thoughts, Donna missed the implication of his query. “Last thing I remember- without interruption or bits and pieces missin'- is my dad, walkin' me down the aisle and I'm eternally grateful for that. He died about six months later,” she offered by way of explanation before continuing. “Mum and Gramps say the weddin' was interrupted by that crazy star thing in the sky...”

“You mean at Christmas? You were gettin' married on Christmas Eve?” Peter asked, confused by the timeline of events he was trying to build.

“I can’t bear Christmas,” she explained. “All those expectations for happy family dinners that end in arguments and perfect gifts that never materialize, I just decided to give myself a happy memory at Christmas.” She snorted in derision. “See how that turned out! Well, they tell me that Lance died in the aftermath of the Christmas Star Attack, unable to get to help in time, so I never married there. I don’t remember any of it.”

“When I did realize what I’d lost,” she continued, “I’m not helpless, ya know. I found records, proof that I’d temped here and there for a year after, and then I took a job- a proper job- with Adipose Industries. Apparently, I didn’t like it because I only lasted three days before I quit... And then nothin', for almost a year. Next thing I know, I'm waking up, my friends are callin' about planets in the sky...” She spread her hands wide in surrender, shrugging her shoulders.

“And your family or friends couldn’t offer any clues about what you’d been up to?” Peter prodded. The more she talked, the more he wanted to help her find peace with her past. He was intrigued and charmed and genuinely curious about the mystery surrounding the ginger woman across the table from him.

“Everyone said I was travelin', but I never mentioned being with anyone,” Donna replied before coloring slightly. “My guess is I was in a rebound relationship that I didn’t want anyone to know about,” she admitted slowly, “but apparently, whoever it was won’t even answer the phone.”

“Why do you think that?” Peter asked, watching her closely for clues.

“I found a number in my mobile when I upgraded it. I was in a hurry so they just 'ported my whole phonebook over from the old to the new because I’d planned to clean it out after. Anyway, there was a number in there with no name attached and I didn't recognize it. I tried looking it up on the Internet, but it was a mobile number- and I couldn’t find any reference to it anywhere. So one night,” she paused and smiled sadly at him, ”I called. And someone picked up but didn't speak. I could hear them breathin', just sittin' there listenin' while I pleaded with them to speak to me, to tell me somethin'- anythin' - but they just listened to me, beggin' and cursin' and cryin' a long while before they rang off. I tried calling back but ... it's blocked. Whoever it is won't even take my calls. It must have been a rebound relationship, and maybe I was mad at the time, and I scared them. I dunno, but what could I have done that's so terrible they won't even speak to me?” Donna finished desperately, looking to Peter for any reaction.

At the sudden flood of information, all Peter could do was stare at her. He had begun to worry that his reaction was inappropriate, that he’d frighten her, so he was thankful for the intrusion when Alice arrived back at their table. “Can I get you two something else?” she asked, pulling their ticket from her apron and waiting expectantly.

Donna spoke first, glad for the distraction and she leapt at her chance for escape from the uncomfortable position in which she’d put herself and the lovely man who shared the table with her. “No thank you, it’s time I was goin' anyway,” Donna forced out, just a touch too brightly. Alice noticed Donna’s pained expression and the look on Peter’s face and she laid the bill down on the table near Peter before she quietly retreated. Donna reached across the table to retrieve the bill and started digging in her bag for her wallet.

Peter laid a restraining hand on her arm and it was Donna’s turn to look down at his hand in wonder. “Stay,” he requested, looking at her earnestly.

She shuddered once and was suddenly desperate to leave. “I can’t,” she whispered, “I just can’t.”

He reached across the table with his free hand and took the bill from Donna’s trembling grasp. He laid it down on the table and captured her now-free hand in his own. “Donna, why?  What is it about me that makes you so sad?  I get that I must resemble this Dr. Smith you saw once, but why does that make you sad?” he pressed, holding her hand tightly so she couldn’t bolt from the table.

Donna’s voice broke and Peter saw the hint of tears forming in her eyes. “Peter, I find myself searchin' crowds for a face I can't remember. I jump when I hear a lorry screeching to a stop. I'm lookin' for someone and I don't know who. And that night, when I saw you across the street .... Well, for a moment, I thought... But then I heard you speak and the feeling was gone.” Peter was distressed to see the first tear spill from her eye and scorch a trail down her cheek. “And I’m sad, DI Carlisle, because **I know**. I don't know how I know, **but I know**. I'm lookin' for someone, I’m searchin' every face I pass in the street. I'm lookin' for someone,” she sobbed brokenly, openly crying then, “and they're not lookin' for me.”

Mortified at her public breakdown, Donna hauled her mask into place, the one she used whenever something touched her too deeply, whenever what she felt threatened to overwhelm her and expose her vulnerabilities for all the world to see. She used her free hand to angrily wipe at her face, and started to pull her other hand free of his, to push away from the table and get ready to flee. “I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry,” she hesitated momentarily and looked at Peter. “This isn't your burden to bear. I'll just be goin'.”

“Donna..,” he began, still holding her hand but Donna had no intention of letting him finish. It would be too much for her, she knew for certain.

“It’s alright, DI Carlisle. I'll be alright,” she forced a brittle grin in place for his benefit as she rose from the table. “”I'm always alright....”

“Donna..,” he repeated, voice a bit louder, forceful now.

This was going to call for sterner stuff, she realized, steeling herself for his reaction. She stood and jerked her hand from his with a little more force than necessary and spat out at him, “Peter, why are you here?” and immediately, she regretted it. The flicker of pain that flashed and was gone from his face tore her heart in two and her resolve collapsed. “I'm damaged goods. I don't know what happened to two years of my life and I can't seem to move on from it,” she explained. “You're lovely, really you are, and I thought maybe I... but I'm no good for anythin' in my current state. I’m so sorry, but I’m wastin' your time.” She reached for her bag, knowing that she had to leave now before she changed her mind or he recovered enough to retort.

But Peter was wasn’t finished. He stood and grabbed her hand again to stop her flight. “Donna, wait. Please,” he begged, acutely aware of the eyes of everyone in the restaurant on them both now. He gave her a look that should have been pleading but instead was vulnerable and Donna’s heart splintered further. He sighed, afraid to go on and was grateful when Donna resumed her seat. He sat heavily, leaning across the table, afraid to release her hand for fear she’d try to run again. “Ye're no wastin' anything of mine, here. And I was actually hopin' we could continue this line of inquiry, in an entirely unofficial capacity?" he finished hopefully, and waited for her response. When she didn’t continue, he plunged on ahead.

“Ye think I'm somehow better off that ye are?  I...” he hesitated, too afraid to share his past. He glanced around the room to buy himself a moment to gather his wits. Everyone had politely averted their eyes, embarrassed by what they must suppose was a lover’s quarrel, he realized. For some reason, this gave him the courage he needed and he plunged in. “Donna, I'm no perfect and I donae care if ye're no, either.” He felt a lopsided grin spread across his face and he hinted, “Besides, I’m a detective, ye know... maybe I can help?“ He waggled his eyebrows at her and grinned even wider.

“Huh?” she said, stunned.

Peter knew he’d won when she couldn’t manage a coherent reply and he all but lilted, “I could look into it for ye.”

“Why?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and looking down at their entwined hands in the middle of the table. She glanced up and blushed furiously when she caught Alice grinning openly at her from behind the counter, poking at the cashier and nodding at some shared secret. She tried to ignore them and returned her eyes to Peter and momentarily forgot how to breathe. He was looking at her with frank and open fascination and Donna felt as though she were the only person in his universe.

“It's an unsolved mystery and ye're unhappy,” he admitted. “Two conditions I donnae like in the least.” At her stunned silence, he continued. “Let me help, Donna. There's a way about ye, the way ye move, the way ye talk. Ye're....captivating.”

And at that, the spell he’d woven around her broke. She snorted and regarded him from beneath arched brows. “And how much have you had, DI Carlisle before comin' here this afternoon? It’s a bit early to have been tipplin’, don’t cha think?” She smirked at him, and then realized she may have hurt his feelings when she felt him stiffen and he glanced down at their linked hands again.

“Peter, I'm sorry,‘ she hastened to explain. “I'm just not used to having anyone actually want to be around me. Everyone tiptoes about and it's made me even crazier than usual. I've grown accustomed to takin' care of myself, of being on my own, is all. And I don't know how to react when people are nice to me anymore, especially people I like,” she finished quietly, glancing up through her fringe at him. “And now, I really do think it’s time I went.” She smiled at him sadly and stood to leave. She got three steps from the table before he could speak.

Peter wasn’t sure why, but at her admission, he decided to take a chance. “For the record, Miss Noble,” he raised his voice slightly to call out to her as he stood, “I only know the life story of one of the patrons of the George.” He put his hands in his coat pockets and took a single step closer to her. “But I’m no done with it yet. It's a real page-turner and I donae want to put it down.” Peter explained. He raised his chin and favored her with a slow smile, “So I was wonderin' - if ye're not busy- maybe ye'd like to meet me for lunch tomorrow and we could go over the next chapter together?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee turns into lunch...where exactly is this leading?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Part 5: Saturday, 21 April 2012, 9:00 AM**  
  


Peter turned over and looked at the bedside clock, rolling his eyes in consternation. It was 9 AM: far too late for him to still be lying in bed, but he’d had a late night at the station and bed was as good a place as any to think about what he’d found. _No, that’s not quite right_ , he thought, _it’s not what I found, but what I dinnae find_. Because, try as he might, though he searched for hours, he couldn’t find any scrap of information- no hospital records, no accident reports, no work history, no bills, nothing at all- about a Donna Noble from March of 2009 until September of the same year. Prior to Christmas 2007, he’d found the usual data trail people left behind in the course of their daily lives- mobile phone bills, tax records, employment histories and the like. Shortly after New Year, 2008, he’d even found airline records and travel arrangements in her name for a trip to Egypt. After that, however, there were gaps: strange, long, stuttering holes in her history until March of 2009 when Donna Noble, for all intents and purposes, simply disappeared from the face of the earth for seven months.

 _To vanish so completely in the 21st century was impossible_ , he’d reflected, _if she’d been in country at the time_. Criminal masterminds with billions at their disposal would be envious of how completely and totally she’d disappeared from the public records and yet, with no financial resources he could find for her at the time, she had. Her employment history had been steady, working as a temp for various firms in various positions up until June of 2007. That was when she’d taken a position as a temporary secretary with H.C. Clements, where she’d apparently met her fiancee. He found an engagement announcement that mentioned a wedding scheduled for 24 December 2007 between Donna and a Lance Bennett, but no records that it had actually taken place. There was a Lance Bennett listed among the casualties of the deadly Christmas Star that had appeared in the sky that night, but his body apparently had never been recovered.

Then suddenly, in September of 2009, she was back as if she’d never been gone. All the normal rhythms of life were instantly put back in place and on 3 April, 2010, she was married to a Shaun Temple. One week passed and she won a staggering £4.1 million in the fifth-ever triple rollover lottery drawing and almost a year to the day later, she was amicably divorced from her husband. It was all a very strange puzzle without a solution, and Peter detested unsolved puzzles.

And this unsolved puzzle was not going to be resolved by him laying about any longer, he decided, inhaling deeply through his nose and rubbing his face vigorously with his hands. He rolled out of bed and headed for the shower and his lunch appointment with Ms. Noble.

**********

It was Donna’s turn to kill time as she arrived at the Turnham Green Cafe early to wait for Peter. She’d been surprised when he’d suggested it for their meeting place as it was almost literally across the street from her flat, but then she’d remembered that he was a detective. She figured that since he knew she lived in the area, he was trying to put her at ease by keeping her on home ground. The Turnham Green was small and a bit shabby, but had some of the best cheap Thai food in London. It usually got very busy at lunchtime so she’d gotten there early and claimed a table for two. That’s where Peter found her when he arrived, sipping a Thai iced tea and trying to read a book.

At the sound of the bell on the door, Donna glanced up. Peter greeted her with a warm, slow smile that gave her butterflies inside and she couldn't help but smile back like a schoolgirl as he walked over to the table. She ducked her head and bit her bottom lip when she looked at him properly. He was wearing snug, worn jeans and a simple grey jumper with a slight v-neck that revealed a white vest under. Trainers, no coat, and Donna noticed with a trace of amusement that he was very freshly shaved. What did his clothes say, she reflected, besides I’m gorgeous and I don’t need to get all dressed up for you to notice it?”

Both times they had met, she had been surprised by his dry wit and obvious intelligence. It was the greater part of his charm, actually, as physically, he wasn't the type she usually went for. But in his case, she might just have to make an exception, Donna decided as he approached her table. She had idly wondered if he would be different now that he wasn't playing the role of 'Copper' and was just being Peter Carlisle, and seeing the look on his face, she had an inkling. He was deriving an inordinate amount of pleasure just from walking across the room and there was a faintly challenging playfulness about him that made her want to have a bit of fun herself.

"Detective Inspector,” she drawled, enjoying the way he smirked in return. She was fighting to keep a straight face and she knew he could see it. She chewed her lip as she considered how far to push her cheek.

Donna wouldn't make a very good poker player, Peter thought- she had a tell. If she bit her lip, she was debating something. The longer she held it, the more she was thinking. When the lip was released, though, a decision had been reached. This entry, along with the head tilt, which could mean anything from a self-deprecating _Go on, I don't believe you_ to an all-out _You're completely bonkers_ , and Peter was well on his way to compiling Donna's non-verbal lexicon. The smile she was currently struggling to suppress added another entry he was pleased to see.

"Ms. Noble," he replied, as he took a seat across from her, formal tone at odds with his amused expression, "I keep askin’ that you call me Peter. What will it take for you to comply with that simple request?" He leaned on the table, arms casually crossed before him.

"I'll consider it, DI Carlisle, when you stop callin’ me Ms. Noble," she whipped back at him, eyes dancing. She cocked her head to the side and finally gave in to the smile that had been struggling to escape.

He conceded her point with a gesture and a nod. "Touché, Donna. You have me there," he admitted. Her eyebrow twitched and she quickly glanced down at her menu in a futile attempt to hide her guilty reaction. Was he openly flirting with her or was her dirty mind getting the better of her?

When the resultant pause in conversation threatened to become uncomfortable, Peter reached for a menu and asked, "So, what's good here?" He looked over the menu at Donna expectantly and was gratified to find her openly watching him. The uncertainty and hesitation he'd observed in her the previous day was absent, replaced with a a slightly mischievous self-confidence that he was warming to. Her smile deepened when she realized she'd been caught looking yet again, and Peter was pleased that this time, although she did color a tiny bit, she didn't look away. She momentarily bit her lip and this time, he was pretty sure she had just come a conclusion where he was concerned.

"You had Thai before?" Donna asked abruptly.

"No," Peter answered, "but I like Indian and Chinese. Point of fact," he continued, "I cannae think of anythin' I've had an no liked..." he admitted, scratching his neck, faintly embarrassed at the confession. "Guess I'm just easy that way."

Donna smiled and bit back on her retort. _All in good time, girl,_ she thought before responding. "Everything's good here, really, but you can't go wrong with the Pad Thai," she finally said. "It's tasty and pretty mild. I don't know how hot you like it," she paused a moment and her smile turned sly before continuing, " so maybe we should play it safe...for now." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and she tapped the table with her own menu. Donna had to purse her lips to stifle a grin at the startled expression that flitted across his face.

He recovered quickly, Donna realized, when Peter came back with, "I leave myself in your obviously capable hands.” He could tell from her cheeky grin that she had a retort at the ready but had elected to hold back. Peter surmised that they had reached Level One in their banter, and despite Donna's obvious desire and demonstrated ability to take it to the next level, she wouldn't do so without encouragement. The flashes of humor in her quick-witted responses were immensely appealing and he couldn't help but wonder what she would be like if the pall of past losses were to be cast off her present. Peter decided he wanted to find out and set about becoming very encouraging.

"You trust me, then?" she asked as she stood and moved towards the counter.

"Until you give me reason to do otherwise," he shrugged, still smiling at Donna.

"Seafood? I mean, other than fish?" she queried suddenly, an afterthought.

Peter’s lips quirked into a half smile as he nodded to her, "Aye - love it, and even if I dinnae, I'll try anythin’ at least once."

"I'll do my best to ensure you won't regret that decision later on," she tossed over her shoulder before she turned back to the counter and placed their order. In no time, their food was ready and Peter smiled as Donna pointed and named each dish.  She’d ordered an assortment for him to try- soft, salady Summer Rolls, chicken Sa-Tay, an order of shrimp Pad Thai for him, and an order of Yum Ta Lay for herself.

“I took a cue from your definition of an assortment, I'm afraid," she said with a smile as she spooned a portion of the Yum Ta Lay on a plate for herself. “Try everythin’ so you’ll know what you like if you decide to have Thai again. It’s one of my favorite cuisines, up there with a good curry and an order of fish and chips.”

Peter followed her advice, trying a bit of this and that and nodded his approval. “You’re right, everythin’ is good. Thanks for the introduction,” he said while gesturing with his fork. “I have a new addition to my list of establishments to frequent.”

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Donna ventured to ask, “So, if you'll forgive the presumption, how does a nice Scots lad like you end up in the big, bad city of London? Or Chiswick, to be more precise.”

Peter paused a moment, chewing slowly before answering. "I admit, It's no where I aimed to be, just where I've ended up."

“And what do you think of it?” she nudged. Now that he was talking about himself, Donna was eager to find out more. She felt calm and confident in his presence today for some reason, as though she’d known him forever instead of four days.

Peter wondered at the subtle change in her demeanor and thought he might be seeing the real Donna Noble again, the lively woman who’d bantered with him at the George. He had hoped to see that woman again and he slipped back easily into the overtly playful tone of their first conversation. “I dinnae much at first, but I'm startin' to take a shine to it. Took me a bit to get settled in, I reckon. But the food’s good, there are several bookshops nearby, and the locals are startin’ to be friendly,” he finished with a smile.

“Family?” Donna asked, fighting to keep from glancing at his left hand. She’d already surmised there might have been a ring there once, long ago, but not now. She looked briefly down at her plate to hide her curiosity and took a bite, waiting for him to continue.

“No much to speak of,” Peter confessed. “My Da's passed, my mum took it as a personal affront when first I left for Kendal, and an older brother I haven’t seen in almost...ten years now?” he continued. “We're no what you'd call close.”

“I’m sorry,” Donna said quietly, reaching across the table to touch the back of his hand. She had something of a love/hate relationship with her own mother, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine how someone could cope with life entirely on their own, even with her own strained familial relationships.

Peter favored her with another slow, warm smile, pleased beyond reason at her compassionate response. He slowly moved his hand under hers until he could turn to clasp her fingers gently as he spoke.

“Cannae blame her too much. I gave her a fair bit of trouble as a lad-you know the way, bored in school, minor brushes with the constabulary- and she never really forgave me, especially since I joined said constabulary.” He ducked his head a bit and scratched absently at his ear. “Sort of confirmed her low opinion of them, if they'd take on one such as me,” he finished, watching Donna for her reaction. She hadn’t taken her eyes off their hands since he began speaking.

Donna was a master of self-deprecation herself, so she decided to let his comment pass. “Do you miss it?” she asked, looking up and changing the subject abruptly.

Peter looked confused momentarily. “Kendal?” he asked.

“No, Scotland,” she clarified with a smile.

“Oh, aye, but you know as they say, you cannae go home again. There isnae such a place after you’ve emigrated.” He shrugged, but looked wistful for a moment. He shook off his melancholy and with an exaggerated intake of breath deflected the conversation. "Enough of me. What of you?"

“What do you want to know that you don’t already?” Donna asked. She wasn’t attempting to hide anything from him but honestly didn’t know what else to say. Other than her missing time, she felt she was entirely unremarkable. “I was born and raised here in Chiswick and other than a bit of travel, I haven’t done anythin’ of note. I wasn’t very good in school myself, more because I just gave up tryin’ to please my mum than anythin’ else, I guess. Nothin’ I ever do is good enough, so why bother?” She looked past him and tried to smile.

Peter astutely noted her use of the present-tense and tightened his grip on her hand slightly. “And what do you do when you’re no passin’ by crime scenes or havin' lunch with errant DIs?” he teased, trying to pull her attention back to him.

“I’m just a temp,” she said quietly. “That was how I met my first fiancé, Lance, and it’s really all I know how to do. I stopped when I married- didn’t have to work then, you know- but after...,” she trailed off, lost in remembrance. Peter nudged her hand gently and she continued. “Well, I was just bored with nothin' to do. Tempin’ has it’s advantages, you know. I work steadily, but it’s flexible. I can swoop in, help out and swan off before I form any attachments to anyone. I get to pick and choose what sounds interestin’ and it leaves me time to travel a bit. I used to love that, but lately, it's no fun if I have to travel on my own.”

“None of your friends can go with you?” Peter asked.

Donna tilted her head to the side and regarded him for a long moment before responding. “I don’t really have anyone you’d call a friend anymore. Not since the divorce, anyway.” She looked down at her hand in his and seemed puzzled for a second before she continued. “When I first came back after my disappearance, it was like I hadn’t even been gone. I fell back in with my old friends- Veena, Nerys and the rest. But after a bit, I found that I just didn’t have the same connection with them anymore. There’s more to life than just the latest fashions and celebrity gossip.” She looked back up into his eyes, searching for something there.

“I mean, that’s right, yeah? I wanted to see the world and learn about other people and places, but all they wanted was to hit the beach. Don’t mistake me- I love a good beach as much as the next girl, but I couldn’t interest any of them in goin’ anywhere other than that.” Donna looked away, ashamed, before she admitted, “This sounds terrible, but I just got bored with the lot of them. Bored with goin' to the same places and hearin’ the same gossip over and over. And so when they started makin’ excuses and not meetin’ up with me anymore, I didn’t mind. Only Nerys still sees me and I think she only hangs about with me to make her own life seem better by comparison.” Donna suddenly came back to herself and smiled at Peter. “A bit more of an answer than you wanted, huh?”

“No, Donna, I want to hear anythin’ you want to tell me,” Peter assured her. “But I have to ask, about your disappearance, do you remember anythin'? Anythin’ at all? Where you went? Who you might have gone with?”

“No, Peter,” she replied, “nothin’- there’s nothin’ there.”

“And your family- they donae know what happened to precipitate the memory loss? Do you no remember a fall, an accident, anythin' at all?” Peter pressed her, watching her intently.

“I’m sorry, but no. And there are no real scars, no obvious marks on me anywhere, I’ve looked,” she replied, sighing deeply. “If I were in an accident, wouldn't there be signs of trauma?”

Peter involuntarily found himself imagining looking for those non-existent marks and mentally shook himself in an effort to return to the conversation. “And your divorce- it was final in April of 2011, right?” Peter clarified. At Donna’s stunned silence, he cautiously continued, “I’m just tryin’ to narrow everythin' down, Donna.”

“You've already started investigatin’ me, then?” she murmured. For a just an irrational moment, the idea really bothered her, and Donna had to bite back an instinctive retort- _You Google all your dates, Detective Inspector Carlisle? Am I just another case to solve?_ \- but instead, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep, calming breath before continuing. "I just...don't understand. I’m nothin’ special, so why are you doing this again, Peter?" She regarded him steadily, but Peter saw the tears that were threatening to form.

The despair in her words tore at his heart but he carefully controlled his expression. "Donna, I’ve already told you,’ he replied evenly, never taking his eyes from her face. “I want to help; isnae that enough of a reason?"

"But why?" Donna whispered, desperately trying and failing to keep her tears from spilling over. She tried to ignore them as long as possible before giving up and angrily scrubbing at her face with her free hand.

Without hesitation, Peter whispered back, "Because it makes ye unhappy, and I think ye should be happy. I want ye to be happy." He gently stroked the back of her hand, still in his, with his thumb and observed her steadily.

Donna watched him watch her and she realized Peter wasn’t going to look away or back down. She finally softened and allowed herself to believe that he wasn’t playing a game, that he was serious, and her heart fluttered as she saw the concern behind his eyes. "Alright, then, Policeman," she said quietly with a hesitant smile.

Peter’s answering grin danced across his face momentarily before he regained his composure. He had just won a decisive battle in the war for Donna’s trust and he knew the nickname she had awarded him was his own Conspicuous Gallantry Cross. For the first time since he met her, he allowed himself to hope for something more from their budding relationship, but he purposely controlled his external response. It wouldn’t do to get ahead of himself here and spook her in the process. Some lessons were learned once and didn’t need to be repeated.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of this glorious spring day?” he finally asked when he was sure he was once more in control of his voice.

 _After all that, he was still talking to me?_ Donna wondered inside as she slowly answered. “Uhm, not much, really. I'm goin’ to help out at the RSPCA a bit later, but just from three to six this evenin’.”

“Another temp job?” he asked.

"No," she slowly admitted, "a temp that became a semi-regular volunteer job. I was a receptionist for them for a bit and I saw a need. It's nothin’, really. I just let the regulars get an early start to their Saturday night, " she confessed with a matter-of-fact shrug.

At his answering look of incredulity, she quickly justified herself. “Really, stop lookin’ at me like that. It's nothin' special- just a bit of volunteer work and it’s only for a few hours a month.”

Peter closed his mouth with a snap. He nodded his agreement to her statement, but wondered if she really was so clueless about how remarkable her actions were. In this day and age, she continued to work as a temp just to help others out, even though, given her lottery winnings, she must not need the money?  Giving away her time when she could have easily been paid for it?  “Between now and then?” he ventured when she didn’t go on.

“Hadn’t really thought about it, so I guess I don’t really have any.  Maybe head out to the cinema or get another book- I'm almost done with this one- and go out to the park. It’s supposed to be a lovely day,” she finished hopefully.

“What are you readin’?” he asked as he craned his neck to see the cover of the paperback she’d indicated. “ 'Great Expectations' ? Really?”

Donna blushed at his comment and explained, “Nowadays, I’m readin’ all the stuff I should have read in school but no one bothered to tell me at the time that they were actually good stories. So now, I read some of this and that, trying to broaden my horizons, as they say.” She looked up at him and smiled shyly. “I used to like romance novels, but honestly, they all have the same plot and after a bit, it gets rather borin’,” she finished, realizing that she was rambling in her nervousness. “And you? What are your plans, then?”

Peter nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders as he answered teasingly, “Oh, I thought maybe I’d do a bit more research on a pet project, but other than that, I rather fancied gettin’ a good book, findin’ myself a pretty girl and then spending a lazy afternoon in the park with her.” He was pleased to see Donna’s smile spread into a grin as he spoke. “You game?” he asked, squeezing her hand gently before releasing it. She nodded her assent and moved to gather her belongings.

“To the library, then?” Peter said as he pushed back from the table to leave. Donna stopped, fighting a chill of foreboding, as if someone were standing on her grave and she blurted out hastily, “No, no, the book I want isn’t there.” Peter sat back again, watching her carefully and waiting, eyes asking all the questions he wasn’t giving voice to. Under his patient gaze, Donna calmed and gave him an embarrassed smile. “I volunteer at the Chiswick Library every other Thursday, so I know it isn’t in the collection, is all,” she said.

“That’s all?” he queried.

“That’s all,” she replied firmly, but she could tell he suspected there was more to her reaction. She glanced down and was surprised to find herself fidgeting, right hand loosely clasping the left, her thumb worrying up and down the length of her third finger. She bit her lip for just a moment, then admitted, “I’m sorry, I know it’s mental, but I just got the strangest feelin’ of déjà vu or somethin’, like we shouldn’t go to the library together...”

Peter watched carefully as Donna stilled and trailed off, losing track of the here and now as she tried to step back into her past, brow furrowed in concentration. He noted the way she stroked her hand absently from time to time as she struggled to remember something, another entry in his own book, the Mystery of Donna Noble. She bit her bottom lip harder and he was afraid she’d draw blood if this continued, so he slowly reached across the table and pulled her right hand into his. “Donna,” he said quietly, “let’s go to the book store, then?”

At his words, all the tension drained from her face and hands and she favored him with a slow, delighted smile. “That sounds lovely, Policeman.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Flowers? You even..thought..about flowers? For me?” Donna stammered, “Why?....I mean, that's, sweet of you, but you don’t...I mean, that’s just not necessary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Saturday, 21 April 2012, 7:30 PM**

Donna was still smiling as she exited the Tube station and headed for her flat. It was only 6:30 and she had an hour before she was to meet Peter for dinner. Plenty of time left, she reflected as she raced up the stairs and turned her key in the lock, to freshen up and get to the restaurant on time.

They had spent a pleasurable afternoon browsing in the bookshop on the Chiswick High Road across from the George, each poking into the other’s shopping baskets in an overt attempt to see what could be deduced about the owner based on their selections. Peter had smiled when she had shyly shown him what she had picked out- a paperback copy of Wuthering Heights (“Don’t you laugh- it’s a classic!”), A Street Cat Named Bob (“What? He’s ginger, too...”) and The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year (He had been on the receiving end of an eyebrow raised in defiance, daring him to comment.). For his own part, Peter had selected The Bees (Donna frowned momentarily and he had simply stated, “I like poetry.”), Being and Time (“A bit of light reading, that...Theology AND Philosophy,” Donna had mused.) and a copy of Monty Python, Vol. 2: Just the Words (“There’s hope for you yet, Policeman...”). She had no way of knowing that Peter was secretly relieved he hadn’t selected the volume he had been contemplating, Dependent Rational Animals: Why Human Beings Need the Virtues.

They had browsed and flirted so long that they’d lost track of the time and so they left the bookstore with their purchases and a promise to meet at Carvosso’s later in the evening. Peter had suggested it as they passed by on their way off to their afternoon pursuits and Donna had giggled and teased him about the appropriateness of his choice when she remembered the restaurant was housed in a converted former police station. Now, after a quick shower and a change of clothes, she turned the corner from Turnham Green Terrace and looked up the street to the restaurant where he stood, waiting for her to arrive.

Peter smiled when he saw her approach, dressed in a simple but flattering deep blue dress. It was cut to show off her best assets but wasn’t too revealing or too fussy and it contrasted beautifully with her hair. As she approached, he opened the door for her and confessed, “You look lovely. I wish I'd brought you flowers, but I thought maybe you'd think that was a bit...” he trailed off, scratching his ear, unsure of how to continue.

“Flowers? You even..thought..about flowers? For me?” Donna stammered, “Why?....I mean, that's, sweet of you, but you don’t...I mean, that’s just not necessary.”

Peter tugged at his ear, unexpectedly feeling like a git for not bringing her flowers. “You most certainly deserve flowers. Next time, I'll bring some,” and his eyes widened at his own presumption; he only liked being forward when he meant to be. He looked away self-consciously for a moment before ruffling his hair. “Shall we go inside?” he finally asked.

Donna was suddenly shy and unsure: they had been so relaxed at lunch and the bookstore and now they were fumbling and nervous. What had changed?, she wondered. She ducked her head for a moment, then decided to bluster her way through the unease. She threw back her hair and favored him with a brilliant smile. “Yes, let's,” she said simply as they were greeted by the hostess.

Her bluster could only hold so long, though, and as they waited for a table, she awkwardly cast about, looking for a safe topic of conversation. “So,” she started hesitantly, “how did the rest of your day go?”

Internally, Peter sighed, relieved to get away with his earlier comment. “Oh, it was alright. The forensics team contacted me- they finished collecting samples from the scene, including the ones they took where you indicated. They found not only blood, but fingerprints, as well.” He smiled as the hostess indicated they should follow her and continued, “And I looked through the incident reports for the period covering December 2007 to September 2009.” He tried to cover his concern as they made their way to their table.

Donna stopped and turned to regard him with surprise, eyes lighting up, stunned and a bit excited. “Really?” she breathed. “You looked through two years of reports, for me?” A grin slowly spread across her face and she reached out to grasp his hand, “ Oh, I can't thank you enough! Did you find anythin'?”

“Well, I....” he pulled out her chair for her, and fiddled with his ear with his free hand. He started again after she was seated and he took the seat opposite her. “Well, this is interestin',” he said slowly, looking up at her across the table.

Donna was so excited she was almost bouncing in her chair, beaming at him. “Interestin'? Oh, tell me everythin',” she pleaded. “My mum and my granddad both get so strange when I bring it up and no one else seems to know anythin'...” She trailed off, noticing the uncomfortable look on his face. “Oh, you're awfully quiet...am I natterin' on now...?” she said as she fell quiet herself and started examining her fingernails.

Peter gave her a reassuring smile to cover up his intrigue. He started again, hesitantly. “Well, the thing is...I couldnae find anythin' a'tall.” He paused, worried that she’d think he was accusing her of lying. “There were no reports of major accidents involving a Donna Noble, or anyone fittin’ your description. Did I get the dates wrong?  Is there anythin’ more you can tell me?” He looked at her, his eyes big and hopeful and he checked an impulse to reach across the table and take her hand.

Donna exhaled heavily, a bit deflated, before confessing, “Oh, well, can't say that I didn't expect that. I've been lookin’ myself, and I just can't figure it out. I checked hospital records, accident reports, I even checked through the internet...” She began absently rubbing her left ring finger again and told him sadly, “And then, there’s my family...they just won't tell me anythin'.” Her lip trembled slightly and she looked away to try and regain her composure.

Peter observed her unconscious gesture for a moment before he reached across the table and took her hand. “Everyone said you were travelin’.  Do you remember where?  Maybe l’m lookin’ in the wrong place?” He was concerned, but he licked his lip at the feel of her hand under his, soft and warm. The longer he looked at her like this, sad and distressed, the more he wanted to kiss that sadness away. That, of course, was when the waiter came by with their water glasses and menus, forcing them to break apart reluctantly before he swanned off again. Peter immediately reached across the table and took her hand back in his.

Grateful for the contact, Donna looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “No, no, I really can’t remember a thing. Thank you, though,” she whispered. “That's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long, long time. I don't know why you're botherin’ with me, but I really appreciate it.” Whenever her past came up, she remembered that she was broken and somehow diminished and, not for the first time, she wondered what business she had being out with the Detective Inspector.

Sensing her uncertainty, he held her hand a little bit tighter. “It's no bother, Donna. None a’tall,” Peter steeled himself before admitting in a rush, “I...there's somethin' special about you, Donna. I want to take time to find out what that somethin' is.” He wanted to tell her his secret so she’d realize he was no great prize. It was only fair she knew, he decided, so that when she eventually wised up and rejected him, at least it would hurt just a bit less. _Better now than later_ , he reasoned as he glanced about the restaurant, uncomfortable in such an exposed place. “Why donae we just get out of here? I know we just sat down, but can we no go for walk outside, get some air?” he asked hopefully.

Donna was surprised at his abrupt suggestion and she couldn’t quite figure him out, but she was intrigued. She noticed that his accent had thickened slightly and she smiled, charmed and wondering what that might mean. “OK, if that's what you really want, I'm game. I'm not very hungry now really,” she admitted, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “It’s a bit too stuffy in here for my tastes, anyway.”

He smiled in response and soon they were walking out in the unseasonably mild and clear evening. Peter turned to see the patiently expectant look on Donna’s face and took a deep breath before launching into his confession. “The thing is, Donna...I'm a bit of a bastard. Well, I was. Or, I'm tryin' not to be,” Peter explained. “I always prided myself on my integrity, but a few years back... ,“ he paused, suddenly afraid to go on. “...I did some horribly dishonest things. That's why I left Kendal. Why I was told to leave Kendal,” he finished quietly, hesitant to look at her and see her reaction. He took another deep breath before hurriedly finishing, “But I donae want to make the same mistake again. I know I've just met ye, but I just want...I want...” He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated that'd he'd begun this conversation without thinking it through.

Donna abruptly stopped walking and pulled his hands together in hers. “Peter, I can't believe you've ever been a bastard. Maybe you’ve made some poor choices in life occasionally, but I’ll never believe you were a bastard,” she said quietly. “And believe you me, I know a bastard when I see one,” she continued forcefully. “So,” Donna took a deep breath and brazenly looked into his eyes as if she could read his character written on his very soul, “What is it you want? Tell me. Tell me so I'll know if I'm wastin' my time. Tell me so I'll know if I'm wastin' your time.”

Peter looked at her, mouth slightly agape in wonder, completely taken with her words. He hadn’t even known how his sentence was going to end, but suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted. “Can I kiss ye?” he asked breathlessly.

Inhaling abruptly in surprise, Donna whispered, “Oh, yes...please..” She leaned slowly towards him, standing up on tiptoe in her flats to reach his lips.

He cupped her cheek and gently pulled her lips to his, carefully resting his other hand on her waist, afraid she might change her mind and push him away. Peter savored the feel of her soft lips against his, and slid his hand back just enough to feel the strands of her red hair slide between his fingers. He slowly stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, and ever-so-hesitantly ran his tongue across her bottom lip in a caress.

Donna couldn’t dare to believe that this was really happening, that this hot, gorgeous, sexy man was actually interested in her. Hesitantly at first, she returned his gentle kiss, then leaned closer, letting her breasts crush up against his chest. She clutched his jumper beneath her fingers in an attempt to keep herself from falling and moaned faintly before she caught herself and pulled back slowly. “That was...lovely,” she declared before blushing furiously.

His eyes were a bit lidded and it took Peter a moment to come back to himself. “Yeah,” he blinked, “it was lovely. Ye’re lovely.” He kissed her again, this time without attempting to part her lips with his tongue and Donna closed her eyes and tilted her head back to receive his lips. She decided that in case this was the last time they’d kiss, she was at least going to get as much from it as possible. He let his eyes fall shut again at the touch of her lips to his. Donna slowly ran her tongue against his bottom lip, sucking at it gently and when she nibbled at it, Peter was startled at the heat her actions sent to his groin.

Donna sighed and started to move away before stiffening momentarily in surprise as Peter let his lips chase hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth, exploring the wet curves within. He felt her exhale through her nose, her breath tickling his cheek and he suddenly worried that he may have been overdue for a shave, but he didn’t want to stop kissing her. He swirled his tongue over hers once more before pulling back to nip and suck at her lower lip. When he finally did move to look into her blue-green eyes for a long moment, he realized they were in quite the close embrace.

This time, Donna initiated the kiss, raising her hand to his cheek, loving the feel of his stubble but not daring to reach behind his head to draw him nearer. Peter tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her just a bit closer, but not too much, not wanting to be lascivious. Her breasts were pressed to his chest and he could feel the tremble in her breath. He swept his hand into her hair and gripped the back of her head, gently enough that she could pull away if she wanted, but firmly enough to draw her mouth tightly to his.

She sighed happily against him before remembering that they were standing on a public sidewalk just a few hundred feet away from the entrance to the restaurant, with anyone and everyone watching them as they passed. Chastened, she pulled back and placed both hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes. "Peter, not that I don't like this, because I do, I really, really do...but where are we goin' with...this?" she asked, glancing away, voice tremulous. “‘Cause if you're just lookin' for some company tonight,” Donna sniffed and moved back a tiny bit before continuing, “I need to know.” She looked up at him again and silently begged him to want more, but she still couldn’t believe that he would.

Stunned, his mouth hanging open just a little, Peter felt panic welling up in him; _of course, she must think_... “Oh no, Donna, it's no like that at all. Oh, and no wonder ye'd think that! Didnae even have a proper meal and here I am doin' this...” he spluttered, suddenly deeply embarrassed. He took her hand and stared down at it, building up the courage to look her in the eyes again. “I...Donna, I donae know exactly what I want, but I know that I want more than just tonight.” He smiled a little, then quietly said, “I know it's no fancy, but we can find a chippy, if it’s OK with ye.” He frowned then, suddenly feeling self-conscious and vulnerable. “It's no a proper date at all,” he admitted, thinking that he hadn’t been on an honest and proper date in quite some time.

“Oh, a chippy- that'd be perfect! I want loads of vinegar on mine.” Donna was suddenly ravenous, as if one appetite, when stimulated, triggered another and she smiled up at him before moving out of his embrace.

Peter smiled back at her, grateful that she’d granted him another pass. “I know a really good place, but,” he said, scratching at his ear and mentally calculating how to get from one point to the other, “it’s a bit of a walk. We could take the bus or even get a cab...”

Donna’s smile widened at the prospect of an evening stroll with this man she was finding increasingly attractive. “No, that’s fine, I like walkin',” she asserted happily.

“Not knackered from work?” he asked.

“Nope, not a bit,” she replied, cocking her head to the side to regard him with amusement.

Peter hesitated before asking, “Can I hold your hand, then?”

Donna’s heart leapt in her chest at the pleading tone of his question, but she slapped his arm mischievously and hooted, “After what we just did on the sidewalk, you ask me that?!? And besides, whadda ya think you were doin’ all afternoon, Detective Inspector?”  She threw her hair back over her shoulder and made a great show of folding her arms across her chest, smile threatening to break into a grin at any given moment.

And there she was again, that playful, confident woman he’d found himself entranced with at the George. His answering bashful smirk made her heart melt, and he argued, “Yeah, but that was at a table. This is out where the whole world can see.” He moved closer, extending his hand and wiggling his fingers slightly, voice suddenly low and husky, “And I want the whole world to see.” In response, Donna smiled her acceptance and reached for his hand, amazed at how right it felt for their fingers to be entwined.

He did grin then and together they headed out into the night, towards his favorite chippy, giggling and flirting outrageously the whole way. Donna couldn’t have told you how they got there if her life depended on it, and when they arrived at The Bull’s Head down on the Thames, they each ordered a fish supper and collapsed onto a bench, where they fell into easy conversation.

“Where are we, again, Policeman?” Donna asked, looking around to regain her bearings.

“Ye’re in my neighborhood now, missy,” he responded, waggling his eyebrows at her. He’d always thought she was lovely, but here, near the water and under the moonlight, she was a vision. “But donae worry- I’ll see ye home safely when the night is done.”

They talked and laughed about everything and nothing, and she slapped his hand without thinking when he finished his chips and tried for one of hers. Suddenly, Donna got the strangest rush of déjà vu again, but this time it was a happy feeling. She focused on the chip held in his long, beautiful fingers and swayed gently in her seat before blinking hard and bracing herself against the table.

Peter noticed her reaction and he reached across the table to take her hand in his. Concern etched his face and he asked, “Are ye alright, Donna? Ye're looking a bit pale.”

At his words, the spell was broken and she turned to him, smiling. “Never better,” she responded, and he noticed that the thumb of her left hand was working the spot where a ring must have once sat on her third finger. “Just almost remembered somethin', I think.”

He was rather relieved, but something in his gut was telling him there was more to it than that. “Does that happen often?” he paused, checking for her reaction. “Should I get you some water?”

“Nah, I’m OK,” she answered, waving away his concern. “You're good for me, you are,” she stopped suddenly and pulled back, realizing what she had just said. “I mean, I haven't felt that in forever...,” and Donna stopped again, blushing as she realized she was making it worse, not better.

Peter had been relieved that she let him get away with his awkward comments earlier in the evening and he decided to return the favor. He gave her hand a squeeze, trying to comfort her. She seemed suddenly disoriented, or at the very least, flustered. “It's alright, Donna. Just take a moment to settle yerself, eh?"

He leaned back slightly, but found that he couldn’t bear to let go of her hand. In an effort to appear casual, with his free hand Peter popped a chip into his mouth and chewed slowly, watching her intently.

Deciding that if she was in for a penny, she was in for a pound, she smirked across the table at him. “With you around? You're jokin', right? Settled is the last thing I could be.” Pushing the remains of her dinner aside, she quieted as the implication of her words became apparent. “Settled is the last thing I want to be,” she admitted softly, looking at their entwined hands.

Peter smiled at her, pleased that he hadn’t run her off with his forward act, snogging her in public like a teenager. “I'm no feelin' very settled myself,” he confessed. He saw Donna bite her lip again and when he saw her release it with a tiny smile, he had the feeling a momentous decision had been made.

“Sooo,” she drawled slowly while watching him, her confidence increasing, “you up for a bit of afters?” She turned her hand in his so that they were palm-to-palm, fingers pointing up and barely interlaced, her thumb gently rubbing against the back of his hand.

He tried to stifle a smile, and scratched the back of his neck with the hand she wasn't holding. "Uhhm, what did ye have in mind?" he asked quietly. Peter started stroking her hand with his own thumb, his mind racing at the innuendo that might be lurking in her choice of words. He couldn't quite dare let himself think it, but there was something in her eyes that made him decide she just might not be talking about dessert.

Smiling wickedly, she answered, “I'm in the mood for somethin' dark and sweet. And I think,” she lifted her hand from his to lick salt from her fingertips, drawing her pinky finger into her mouth first, “you...,” the tip of her ring finger disappeared momentarily between her lips, “...fit that description,” the tip of her middle finger slipped between her teeth and he could see her tongue dart forth to collect the salt there, “rather nicely.” Donna finished, sucking slowly on her index finger, her tongue peeking out slightly from behind her teeth.

He watched her intently, licking his lips at her display, his arousal giving him a sudden boost of courage. Peter reclaimed her hand and gave it a squeeze, letting a decidedly less-than-innocent smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He swallowed hard and, eyebrows raised, ventured, “To yers or mine, then?”

Her smile grew a bit wider then, as she saw him lick his lips, and she thought of what she'd really like to do with those lips. “Oh, if I'm placin' the order, I'll let you pick the spot,” she conceded. “I've got nowhere to be in the mornin',” she said, but didn’t add what she was thinking, _and I wouldn't care if I did._

“Come home with me,” Peter pleaded, tugging her to her feet. “Please?” His flat was almost around the corner and his mind was racing, thinking of how badly he'd like to get her there where they could be alone. At his words, Donna smiled to herself. The tiny voice in the back of her head urging caution was rapidly losing out to the roar of the blood in her ears as she let herself be pulled up against him. They shared one more quick kiss before she replied in a sultry voice, “Where you lead, I shall follow.” And with that, they left the restaurant and turned the corner to head for his flat.

Before they had gone a block, Peter stopped short suddenly and looked at her, mortified to ask but needing to know. “Uhm, do we...do we need to find a chemists’, then?”

Donna looked away, bashful, and answered in a clear but quiet voice, “Well, I was...tested...before I got married and had a clean bill of health, as did Shaun. I haven’t been with anyone since, and I never bothered to have my implant removed, so that’s down to you...” she finished, looking up at him through her lashes.

The desire that flashed out from his answering grin made her breath hitch and he replied, “No necessary, then,” as he pulled her forward again.

Donna’s heart fluttered every time he took her hand or even looked at her. _What am I doin'?  What am I thinkin'?  Oh, this can't end well!_  rushed through her mind and suddenly, she couldn’t decide if she should retreat from him or advance on him. Donna chewed on her thumb as they approached his building and entered the lift. She knew what she wanted, but was it too soon? Was she ruining her chances or taking the only chance she'd ever get? And then she looked over at him leaning too-casually against the wall of the lift and knew the point was moot.

“What’s your flat number?” she asked him suddenly.

Peter replied, “4A, fourth floor on the North corner.”

She considered for a moment before musing, “Four floors up? Just enough time then," she said quietly, moving into his arms to kiss him, uncertainly at first, then with a bit more confidence.

When her lips met his, soft and tentative as if requesting admittance, it ignited something primal in his belly, something warm that pooled in his groin. He put his hands at her waist and pressed her against the wall of the elevator, mindful that the hand bar didn’t hurt her back. He pressed his parted lips firmly to hers and suddenly, he was consumed by the taste of her tongue as it moved against his, the way her lower lip quivered when he squeezed her hip.

Donna was moaning into his mouth, drowning in the reality of him, overcome with lust and overpowered by the assault of Peter’s tongue in her mouth. She was barely aware of the chime in the lift, indicating their ascent until it shuddered to a halt. She was insanely grateful for the jarring stop as it gave her a second to recover her footing while hiding the fact that a single kiss from him made her weak at the knees. “Are we there, then?” she asked as she pulled away from him, breathless, and attempted to straighten her clothing. It didn’t work.

“Aye,” Peter said, smiling and taking her hand again, tugging her gently through the lift doors. With his free hand, he dug into the pocket of his trousers for his key. He unlocked the door to his flat and pulled her inside, shutting the door and pressing Donna against it. “Home, sweet home,” he grinned and leaned in to kiss her again.

“You know,” Donna gasped when Peter moved to lead her into the living room, “we’re breaking the Three Date Rule...”

Peter pushed her up against the wall and leaned in to kiss her neck as Donna groaned. “And what’s that, then?” he breathed into her ear.

“It’s more of a guideline, really,” she moaned and Peter smiled against her neck at the reference. “You don’t get...intimate with someone until after the third date.” She clutched his jumper again, twisting her hands in it, trying desperately to pull him closer to her.

“We’re alright, then,” he said, moving down her neck and nipping at her shoulder.

“How...do you...figure that, Policeman?” she forced out as she melted in his embrace and nuzzled his ear. Donna realized she’d found a sensitive spot when he whimpered in response.

“Well,” he began, trailing his fingertips slowly up her side and over to cup her chin, “there was the first night I saw ye, and that counts, doesnae it?” At her answering nod, he continued. “Then Thursday night at the George- that's two,” Peter trailed off, unable to finish as Donna began licking and sucking at his earlobe. She smiled, enjoying his response and warming to his train of logic.

"So, what you’re saying is,” Donna sighed in his ear, “we could have done this yesterday, after our coffee date?” He tried to nod in agreement but she continued her assault on his ear, twining her fingers in his hair. “And by rights, today ought to count as two- no, three dates, right?  We had lunch, then the bookstore and now dinner...,” she said, shuddering as he returned the favor.

“Yeah,” Peter growled, “and it’s a holiday, too.”

Donna pulled back slightly in surprise. “Really?” she asked, wondering for a moment what occasion she’d missed out on now.

“Uh, huh,” Peter replied, smiling against her neck, making her squirm. “Queen’s birthday...” he said and she giggled in response. Peter loved the sound of her laughter and he pressed himself to her as he leaned in for a devastatingly slow, sensual kiss.

She wanted to feel him against her so much, but for just a second, sanity reared its’ ugly head and she gently pulled back from the kiss. “Peter, are you sure about this?” Donna didn’t want to stop and couldn’t quite catch her breath, but she plunged on before her nerve gave out. “I really don't make a habit out of goin' home with men I've just met, you know. I don't know what I'm doing here, or why, but, please...,” she broke off, unable to finish for a moment as tears threatened to form.

She looked up, defiantly, then softened at the confused look on Peter’s face. “Please do me the courtesy of talkin' to me, in person, afterwards. No notes, no texts, no ‘I'll call you later’ that never comes. Please be honest with me,” she finished in a small voice, looking at her hands resting on his chest.

“Donna,” he replied, cupping her cheek and stroking her well-kissed lips with his thumb. “I meant what I said earlier.” He leaned in to kiss her, but thought better of it. “I donae know where this is goin', but I want more than tonight. I mean that. I really do. Please stay with me tonight. I...” he trailed off, uncertain and afraid to put his thoughts into words, unsure of how he felt, even; he just knew she was a mystery he wanted to unravel. “We dinnae even have to....there's somethin' about ye...,’ he said, frustrated, trying to make her understand. Then he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I donae know what it is, but I cannae just walk away. Unless ye tell me to.”

Donna had watched Peter throughout his confession and was stunned: he almost looked frightened at the thought that she might send him away. Her heart did flip-flops in her chest at the sound of his voice and she wanted to weep in frustration when he gently traced where his lips had just been with his thumb.

“Peter, I want you, more than anythin' I can remember. But this is mental!’ Donna sobbed. “I've just met you, but I feel like I've been lookin' for you forever.” She reached up and framed his face momentarily with her hands before dropping them back to his chest and looking away. “And I don't want to do anything to scare you off,” she finally admitted.

He smiled in relief, finally understanding the source of her fear and worry. “Donna, I’m a policeman in the big, bad city of London, remember? I donae scare easily.” He covered her lips with his own, and curled a hand around the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. He was intensely conscious of her hand clutching desperately at his jumper, and it was having a physical effect on him that he was sure she’d notice soon.

Inside, Donna breathed a sign of relief. She had told him now, bared her soul to him and instead of pushing her away, he was pulling her even tighter against him. She dissolved against him, acutely aware of her growing arousal when she felt him twitch against her leg. _It's now or never_ , she decided, and honestly, it really was too late for second thoughts. She slowly ground her hips against his groin, leaving no doubt of what she wanted- and she wanted it now.

Peter felt her move against him, and the friction set his nerves ablaze. Without conscious thought, he pushed his hips back against hers, once, twice, before dropping his lips to her neck and swirling his tongue along her pulse point. “Mmmm,” he hummed against her tender flesh, suckling at her ear lobe.

She slipped her hands up under his jumper in the back, feeling the lean muscles in his back flex and twitch in response to her touch. Peter broke away momentarily to catch his breath. “Donna,” he gasped as she inched up his body to stand on tiptoe to whisper, letting her breath tickle his ear.

“Peter,” she breathed, “why are we still standin’ here?"

“That is a GREAT question,” he laughed, and started backing her toward his bedroom, fingers deftly undoing the buttons down the front of her dress. He slipped it from her shoulders and cast it to the floor, pausing a moment to run his hands over her creamy skin. "Oh Donna, ye are beau'iful,” he murmured, his accent thickening with his arousal. His fingers toyed with the edges of her bra before he slipped a hand behind her back to unhook the clips.

His eyes were so piercing, she felt as though he could see through to her soul. “No, Peter, you're beautiful,” she stammered. She was suddenly shy under his gaze but not for long. He reached out and cupped her breasts, massaging his thumbs softly around her nipples. Donna let her fingers drop down to his waist and she hooked them through his belt loops to hold him still for a moment. She bit her bottom lip and threw back her head, trying and failing to stifle the moan his touch elicited.

“Oh, Peter, oh, please, please, please,” she cried. She wasn’t sure what she was begging for but she wanted it more than anything in the known universe. She fumbled awkwardly at the button on his trousers and finally succeeded in unfastening it, slowly pulling down on the zip. She couldn’t believe she was being this forward, but the growing heat and dampness between her legs was making her bold. Peter’s breath faltered under Donna's touch, and he felt his cock twitch in his pants, straining against the cotton. He ghosted his fingertips down her torso and awkwardly pushed her slip down over her hips.

“Donna,” he said, voice husky with need, “I want ye.” He sighed as he hooked his thumbs into the top of her knickers, hesitating just a moment before slipping his hand into them as well. Gently, he brushed his fingers through her curls and ran one finger along her folds. He felt how wet she was and growled against her skin, claiming her mouth in another kiss. She moaned into his mouth at his touch, her desire for him becoming unbearable. Tearing her mouth away from his, she pushed his jumper up in frustration, needing to have his skin against hers, wanting to kiss every inch of him, to draw him gently into her mouth and watch him writhe on the bed at her mercy. Peter lifted his arms in cooperation, and both his jumper and his shirt came off easily and sailed across the room as she flung them away in annoyance.

She smiled when he helped her remove his shirt and toed off his shoes. Her smile broke into a grin when he frantically tugged at her knickers in an effort to gain possession of her body and she had never seen anything sexier that this man who so obviously wanted her. Peter dipped his fingers into her folds, stroking her several times and she choked back a scream when he tentatively slipped a finger into her. He shifted them closer to the bed, and his open trousers slipped down his thighs and pooled at his feet. Peter stepped out of them and leaned against Donna so that they both tumbled to his bed.

“Now, now, now,” Donna chanted as she collapsed back, pulling him down after her. It wasn’t a request but it wasn’t an order, either. She was desperate for him and acting on pure instinct and she realized she couldn't control herself now if she wanted to. All that lovely bare skin, and she trailed her fingers lightly across his back as she licked and sucked at his neck.

Peter withdrew his hand from between her thighs and struggled to remove his pants. He resettled himself between her thighs, propped up on one elbow, his other hand holding his cock. “Donna,” he asked, his control fraying by the second, ‘is...is this okay?”

She realized right then and there that this had been inevitable, from the moment she had first laid eyes on him. And if it didn't hurt so badly, her need of him, it would be funny- he was actually asking permission to do what she so desperately wanted. By way of response, she wrapped her legs around his waist and angled her hips up so that he was poised to enter her with the slightest movement. “Peter, I want you,” she breathed into his ear, “all of you, now.”

He bit his lip, groaning at her words and his composure crumbled to dust. He thrust into her then, quickly and firmly, all the way to the hilt. “Oh, Donna,” he cried out to her, pausing for a moment to give them both time to adjust.

Donna’s world collapsed down to just this- Peter Carlisle and nothing else. He was inside her, over her, around her and there was nothing else she wanted, now or ever again. He started moving in earnest, her cries his guide. Peter wanted so badly to please her, to make her feel even a fraction of what he was feeling. She was hot and tight around him, and he leaned to nip her shoulder for a moment before he locked eyes with her. “Donna, ye are beau'iful. So beau'iful. Ohhh,” he moaned. Her flushed skin against his was shorting out his brain and he felt as though he couldn’t breathe and was breathing too much in the same moment.

Donna was overwhelmed and it had never, ever, ever been like this before. Every nerve in her body was screaming out for release and when he breathed her name reverently, she lost her tenuous hold on self control. She broke beneath him, her climax just shy of painful, it was so strong, but he wasn’t finished and she clutched him to her, wanting to feel him come inside her.

“PETER, oh, Peter,” she sobbed, raking her nails across his back and biting harder than she intended to at his shoulder. Her orgasm spurred him on, and he was grunting above her. He would have felt undignified if he could feel anything but the sensation of being lost in her; of her muscles clenching around his cock, the bite of her nails against his flesh, her teeth at his shoulder and he was lost. “Donna!” he cried out, and his rhythm became erratic as his orgasm washed over him, brilliant and intense, stars bursting in his field of vision. He pulsed inside her, and as his orgasm subsided, he sighed heavily and collapsed into her arms.

Peter’s heart was pounding and there was a thin layer of sweat between them; he was struggling to catch his breath and nuzzling Donna's cheek to show her all his adoration; the rest of his body felt like jelly and he wasn’t sure he could do much else.

She was crying now, tears of joy and release and Donna was happier than she ever remembered being in her life. She didn’t want to worry him or have him misinterpret her reaction, so she slowly stroked his back, soothing the marks she'd just left there.

“Oh, Peter, oh, that was just brilliant,” she murmured against his shoulder. "You're brilliant, you're just perfect..." She knew she was babbling, but somehow, it felt appropriate. He pulled back enough to look into her eyes, gently wiping away her tears before stroking her hair. He kissed the end of her nose then moved to speak softly in her ear.

“That was amazin', Donna. Ye're amazin'. We're amazin' together,” he whispered and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He reluctantly rolled off of her, but pulled her close and onto her side, stroking his fingers down her back. She snuggled up to him, hand on his chest, her head pillowed on his shoulder, and smiled sleepily. “Donna, thank you for stayin' with me,” he said quietly as they both drifted off to sleep together.

**********

Donna woke, stretched, then panicked for a moment when she realized she had no idea where she was. She was alone in a strange bed, in an unknown room, completely starkers. As she sat up, hugging the bedclothes to her naked form and searching the room desperately for her own discarded garments, she could hear the sound of someone in the kitchen moving about, drawing water, maybe for tea? _What the bloody hell happened?_ , she wondered, before the events of the previous evening came rushing back and she wanted to die right there and then from embarrassment.

She couldn't believe she had lost control of herself to the extent that she had. Not only had she had sex with Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle, a man she hardly knew, she'd gone home with him and no one- not one, single, solitary soul on the planet- knew she had even had a date with him last night. What the hell had she been thinking? And that was the problem, though, she realized. She hadn't been thinking, only acting and reacting to an overdose of hormones, the result of which, she was reluctant to admit, was some of the most spectacular sex she'd ever experienced. And having admitted that to herself, flopping back onto the bed with a sinking feeling, Donna realized that given half a chance, she'd do it again.

Peter walked into the bedroom, clad in nothing but a towel and a satisfied smile, with two mugs of tea. He stopped at the door, and his smile deepened at the sight of the ginger goddess still in the bed they had shared the night before. “The lads at work would never believe this,” he muttered quietly to himself before crossing to the bed and setting the mugs down on the bedside table.

At his words, Donna’s heart plunged into the pit of her stomach and she remembered how she'd once admonished Nerys when she'd whinged after a Prince Charming had revealed himself to be just another toad. _When they want something, men say things, things they might just even believe right then. And when women want something, they let themselves believe it._ She couldn’t believe she’d misread Peter so badly: he didn’t seem the type to kiss and tell, much less kiss and broadcast it to the entire police service of Greater London. She had to get out of there, and get out of there now, she decided, but she was determined to do so with as much dignity as she could muster.

“I brought ye some tea, beau'iful,” he said, reaching out to gently grasp her shoulder.

At his touch, Donna pretended to wake, stretching luxuriantly and pulling the bedclothes up and around her body as she sat. She accepted the tea with a quiet, “Thank you,” then focused her attention on the mug.

“I made it like ye had the other day: strong, milk first, one sugar,” he admitted, pleased with himself. When Donna frowned at him, he smiled and explained. “Yeah, I know ye told Alice ye’d take your usual, but remember, from where I sat, I could watch.”

“You watched Alice make my tea, on the off-chance you’d make me a cuppa one day?” she asked him, incredulously.

“Well, again, I am a detective,” he said, smiling over his mug at her. “It’s my job to notice.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is,” she agreed quietly and took a long drink of tea to hide her watery eyes.

Peter was puzzled: he didn’t quite know what reaction he was hoping for this morning as he made Donna tea, but it certainly wasn’t the one he was receiving. She was trying hard to hide it, but he could see she was fighting back tears and his heart stopped in his chest. Did she wish she’d never met him, never agreed to have lunch with him? Was she regretting coming home with him last night and making love with him? Peter’s smile collapsed and he looked down into his mug and watched the liquid within swirl and coalesce.

He looked up from his mug to find Donna watching him sadly. She started to reach for him, to caress his face, but she stopped midway and reversed the gesture, touching her own face instead. She turned slightly, angling her body subtly past his and she wouldn't meet his gaze. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got lots to share at the office today, so I’ll just be going then, shall I?” she stated matter-of-factly as she looked around the room for her clothes. He saw her lip tremble slightly and her eyes were momentarily bright with unshed tears until she hauled that brazen mask of indifference over her uncertainty and hurt.

Peter's eyes widened in sudden understanding: she’d been awake. She’d overhead his musing and misunderstood. He quickly set down his mug and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her but careful to keep his distance. “Donna, what I said...it wasnae what you thought you heard, I promise. Last night, what we did: it wasnae a one-night stand and I’m no planning on braggin' about it at the station. I'm no gonna tell anyone. I know what it must have sounded like, but I swear, it wasnae,” Peter said earnestly, reaching to take the mug from her hands.

At her disbelieving snort, he smiled gently and explained, “I really wasnae plannin' on telling anyone, but if I did, I think some of the less-evolved members of the force would be relieved. Ye see,” he said with a smirk, ” some of them, they don't think I like women.”

“What?” Donna barked, whipping her head back around to face him squarely; she was too stunned to try for eloquence or teasing.

"Ye should come down to the station; I'll introduce ye. Then ye can see all the raised eyebrows for yerself,” he said, enjoying her stunned silence. It certainly was preferable to her preparing to bolt from his bed for the door.

Donna opened and closed her mouth several times before closing her jaw with a snap and turning to face him. After a moment, she regained enough composure to speak. “Well, I must say, my opinion of the competence of the Met has reached a new low. What on earth would give them that idea?!? Have they not looked at you? Watched you talk to a woman? Lord, I hope they pay better attention to crime scenes than they do to you...,’ she said, rubbing a hand on her cheek and looking at him with undisguised astonishment.

“Well, donae be too hard on them,’ Peter replied, enjoying this turn of events much, much more than he should. “Until ye, I never showed any interest in anyone. I'm friendly with the forensics team--have quite the rapport with one of the blokes who's gay--and I enjoy literature. Surely you can see why those elements would combine to create the perfect storm that keeps the rumor mill churnin’.” He smiled and decided not to share the rest of the rumors circulating around the station about him.

“So...,” he drawled at her, enjoying her embarrassed smile. “What are yer plans for today?” She shook her head and looked up at him through lowered lashes. “How about breakfast, and then maybe a movie later in the day?” Peter offered, smiling persuasively. “Or we could go back to the bookstore and pick up somethin’ to read in the park.” He brightened suddenly, and turned to her, excited. “No, no- I’ve got it! Let’s head over Dukes Meadows and stop by the Market there to pick up a bite and just lay on a blanket watchin’ the world go by. How does that sound?” he asked, hopefully.

Donna ducked her head a moment, biting her lip before smiling up at him. “That sounds good,” she admitted quietly. “When and where should we meet?”

Peter leaned in close to her and whispered seductively in her ear. “Who said anythin’ about partin’ between now and then? I donae have anywhere I have to go and there’s nowhere I’d rather be. How about ye?”

Donna smiled and giggled before sitting up straighter in bed. “But I don’t have a thing to wear,” she realized, looking at her discarded dress on the floor.

“Then I think I’ll be takin’ advantage of that situation right now,” he said, smiling at her as he leaned in for the first kiss of the day. His lips brushed hers and she sighed, humming happily when he moved back to sit next to her. He opened his arms and let her decide to move back into his embrace. Peter sat for several long seconds, enjoying the feel of her in his arms again before he spoke. “ So, I was thinkin' about what ye said, about yer accident? I think I know what to do,” he said quietly, kissing her hair. “We could talk about it over breakfast, if ye like.”

Donna considered her reply carefully. “Could it wait just a bit longer?” she asked in a near-whisper. “I want to, don't misunderstand, but...,” she turned in his arms to look into his eyes, pleadingly. “I just want to pretend that everythin’ is OK and normal for a bit longer.”

“Alright,” he replied, giving her a winning smile, and he reached down to stroke her cheek, turning her chin up so he could place another kiss on her lips.

She couldn’t admit, to herself or to him, that she was playing for time, trying to forestall the inevitable moment when he would realize that he didn’t really want to stay with her. Donna knew she was more trouble than she was worth and she idly wondered if she felt that way before the accident, or if this was a new development, part of the trauma of the incident. She shook her head slightly, determined to enjoy the time she had with him. He was a gift she decided, and she was going to enjoy him as long as she could. As she snuggled up close to his side, she smirked to herself, thinking that If she played her cards right, maybe- just maybe- she could unwrap this gift again.

 ************

All the locations mentioned in the story are real places. Want to see?

[Google Map of Officer and the Noble Woman's Chiswick](https://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msid=201469593294913141795.0004d0521acafef68eaa1&msa=0)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna and Peter spend a lazy day in the park until events takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Part 7: Sunday, 22 April 2012, 1:15 PM**

  
“All right, then, what about that one?” Donna asked, pointing at an older man walking a small toy poodle through the park. She was reclining on an oversized blanket in the afternoon sun, shoulder to shoulder with Peter, giggling mischievously and trying to remember the last time she'd enjoyed a day doing nothing so much. They had spent the morning in bed together before Peter had found her a pair of his sweat pants and a sweatshirt to wear while he drove her back to her flat. After a quick shower and change, they had stopped by the market for a picnic lunch and then found a spot to lounge about and people-watch while they ate.

"Ach, give me a challenge next time, will ye no?" Peter teased as he watched the man cross in front of them. He sat up and tucked the remnants of his lunch back into the box and set it aside. Leaning closer to Donna so that their foreheads almost touched, he whispered in her ear, "Mid-50's, London born and bred, second marriage, and recent, too. The dog belongs to his much-younger trophy wife and he's doing his best to act as though he's fond of the wee hairy beastie, which he's no. No used to physical activity and would, on the whole, much rather be back in The City than here in Chiswick." He let his lips brush her ear and was pleased when she shivered slightly in response as he settled back into place beside her.

Donna didn’t miss the satisfied expression on his face as he noted her reaction and she decided to take him down a peg. "You're havin' me on, Copper," she scoffed, poking Peter in the arm none-too-gently. "You got all that in the sixty seconds you saw him?!? I don't believe you- you're makin’ it up." She tried hard to keep a straight face but her laughter burbled up and finally exploded into a guffaw at the mock-affronted look he gave her in return.

"Ah'm no," he protested, sitting up now, "and unlike _some people_ , I have the evidence to back it up!" He leaned over and quickly kissed her before ducking away from her playful slap. "Some people just cannae take it when someone else is cleverer." His mischievous tone and sly smile made Donna happier than she was prepared to admit, and she loved it when he relaxed enough that his natural accent reappeared. She sat up quickly, folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a challenging stare.

"Prove it," she snorted, lifting her chin defiantly and smiling. This was the third round of their game and Donna was curious. Peter would merely glance at someone and come back with what seemed to be their life story like he was flippin' Sherlock Holmes or something. Of course there was no way to prove his suppositions, short of accosting total strangers and interrogating them, but after Peter’s declarations, when Donna looked at the subject again, she could believe every word. "Tell me how you do it."

"If you insist," he laughed, inclining his head to her for a moment. He turned and gracefully gestured in the direction of the retreating dog-walker. "His age is evident just by lookin’ at him. He's in the park on a lovely Sunday afternoon, ostensibly for relaxation, but his pace is too brisk for him to be anythin’ but a Londoner from birth.” He stopped momentarily, waiting for Donna’s nod of acceptance of his logic thus far.

“The dog? It would be odd for a man of his age to have a dog like that on his own, so it must belong to his partner. Now, if the dog is his wife's, it makes sense, but if it was his first wife, he'd have balked by now at walkin’ that little toy. He might be gay, but the smudge of pink iridescent lipstick on his jawline suggests a woman stood on tiptoe to kiss him as he left on his errand. That and the ring on his left hand being shiny and new suggests a lovely young thing is waiting at home for him when this chore is done. As for the physical activity? Who walks a dog in dress shoes and brand-new jeans? The new wife is tryin’ to bring his wardrobe up to date, but either she hasnae got around to his shoes yet, or out of habit, he's put on the same shoes he's worn for years. And given all that, it's a natural assumption that he's out of his comfort zone and would rather be back on his home turf and at work. Easy, really," he finished, spreading out his hands and nodding sagely before reclining again on the blanket, resting on his elbows.

“Well, at least you didn’t say ‘Elementary’,” groused Donna, smiling despite herself. He was too clever by half, but instead of being annoying, Donna found his quick intellect and quiet confidence enticing, especially when he lounged about with that loose-limbed grace of which he seemed to be completely unaware. Her smile deepened as she wondered if he’d let her try out her developing skills on him.

“Yer turn, beautiful,” he replied, shaking her from her reverie.

She threw her hair back and made a show of squaring her shoulders. "Okay, Policeman; your pick," she announced with a hint of challenge in her voice.

Peter scanned the collection of afternoon park-goers before selecting a woman pushing a buggy.

“That one,” he said, shifting closer to Donna as he pointed across the park.

"Her?" Donna asked, eyes widening in surprise.

"Yes," Peter confirmed with a trace of amusement. He’d already begun his analysis of the woman in question and was looking forward to seeing how his results tallied with Donna’s conclusions.

"That woman, right there?" Donna waited for his answering nod, and taking a deep breath, launched into her interpretation. "Well, I’m no expert,” she declared, nudging his foot with her own, “but here goes.”

She studied the woman carefully before continuing. “She’s 36 and a stay-at-home mom with 3 kids- two boys and a baby girl.” Donna turned to see Peter nodding his approval and her smile deepened into a grin as she continued.

“The oldest boy is a hand-full, always in trouble at school. But he’s sweet, just a bit rambunctious. She left a job in ... “ Donna paused somewhat dramatically, as if searching for a clue before glancing over at Peter and continuing. “Marketin’? This was before her husband got a major promotion at work that allowed her to quit to become a full-time mommy. She loves her boys but was over the moon when the baby was born, ecstatic to add a girl to the family.”

“That it?”, he asked, impressed despite himself at the ease with which she had taken to his game. He never doubted for a moment that Donna was clever- in fact, he thought she was brilliant- and he could see hints of most of what she had concluded about their target, but other things escaped him completely. Peter assumed it was a ‘female thing’, clues only a woman might pick up about another woman, and was looking forward to her explanation, perhaps adding some of her techniques to his own bag of tricks.

“Uh huh,” she responded confidently. “That and she does aerobics three times a week, her favorite color is mauve and her birthday is coming up in about two weeks.” She ticked off her final conclusions on her fingers with a triumphant flourish, cocking her head to the side with a pleased expression.

"That's quite impressive," he confessed, sitting up to study the woman more carefully as she approached. “On what evidence do ye base these stunningly brilliant deductions?” She beamed at Peter’s admiring smile and pursed her lips as she considered how to begin.

“All right. She’s 36, or in the general vicinity, although admittedly, she does look a trifle younger. That’s based on the probable ages of her children, which I'll get to shortly. The buggy is new- mauve, because of the baby girl within. For a woman with a background in Marketin’, pink is a bit too obvious, really, and she’s practical, for the most part- see, she’s reused the gender-neutral green nappy bag- so if the child had been another boy, she would have used the old blue one. The baby is barely 6 months old, but the practiced way she maneuvers that push-chair about says experienced mommy.” Donna glanced sideways at Peter momentarily, looking for his approval.

He leaned towards her, eyes shining with undisguised amusement and admiration and nodded his encouragement.

Pleased, Donna tapped her lips with her index finger, narrowed her eyes and adopted a slightly professorial tone before going on. “The dark blue bag she has slung across her shoulder has at least two pairs of shoes in there, but small shoes, maybe even footy boots, judgin’ by the prickly pattern one of them is makin’ as it presses against the side. So blue bag for the two boys, then- let's say 10 and 6, on account of the shoe sizes, and judgin’ by the time and her own brisk pace, they have a football match today on the other side of the park. Her husband’s taken the boys out for the day to let her have the mornin’ with the baby in peace. The way she’s dressed, she’s just finished her aerobics class, which she takes the baby to so she can show her off to all her friends, and she’s brought the boy’s gear, which her husband- bless him- forgot as he left this mornin’.”

Peter couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “Two boys then,” he conceded, “but how do ye know one is a hand-full?” This insight into her thinking was fascinating and he wanted to know more.

She snorted and looked at him incredulously before answering with a smirk. “Two boys? Isn’t one of them always? And if she’d had the perfect child first, she wouldn’t have tried for another.” Peter laughed and looked away, amused. It was a plausible conclusion, albeit a very female one, and as it fit perfectly within the rules of the game, he allowed her the assumption.

Peter watched their target as she maintained her steady pace on course towards the football pitch, reviewing Donna’s statements one by one. “OK, but how could ye know about the birthday?” he blurted out abruptly. Every other statement could be supported, either by visible evidence or plausible assumption, but this one had him stumped.

Donna momentarily considered bluffing her way through his question, and she bit her lip as she tried to maintain her detective facade; tried and failed miserably. “She has coffee in Maison Blanc with her friends every Thursday after their early mornin’ aerobics class, and I’ve eavesdropped a bit out of boredom,” she confessed with a mischievous smile.

Peter’s eyes widened as he realized the implication of her words. "That's cheatin’!" he cried, lunging for her and knocking her back to the blanket, pinning her shoulders as she laughed.

‘You picked her out, not me,’ Donna retorted, giggling as he started to tickle her. She shrieked and writhed beneath his merciless onslaught, trying halfheartedly to fend off his dancing fingers.

“Ye could’ve said,” Peter accused, and he abruptly stopped tickling her so that she could catch her breath. As her gasps subsided and she favored him with a grateful smile, he began tracing her features with one terribly gentle finger.

“You didn’t say I had to make all my observations here, now did you?” Donna defended herself, “Don’t good policemen- and policewomen- sometimes follow a subject, build up a profile, ask others about them?” she contended, kissing his finger as it ghosted across her lips.

“Yes, but that’s still cheatin’,” he countered even as he recognized the parallel she was drawing. He slowly closed the distance between them and was gratified when her breathing hitched at his approach.

"Oi, so what's the penalty then?" Donna inquired breathlessly as his lips grazed hers, far too gently and she pulled him down and lost herself in the kiss. Before their embrace became untenable in public, she was startled by the deep rolling rumble of thunder and her eyes flew open to search the sky beyond her lover.

Peter reluctantly released his hold on Donna and glanced up at the darkening sky. “Well, maybe it’s time we took this indoors, anyway,” he whispered, stealing one more kiss before climbing gracefully to his feet and offering her his hand. “Shall we?”

“Lay on, MacDuff...,” she teased as he helped her stand.

He grinned, pleased that she hadn’t bungled the quotation and finished it with, “And damned be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”

“If you say so,” she laughed. “I can see I’m goin’ to have to brush up on my Shakespeare. I never could remember the rest of that one.”

Peter stole yet another kiss before Donna stooped to collect the picnic blanket and he leaned over to collect their lunch rubbish, walking across the field to toss it in the bin. He paused to stretch and glancing over at the play area beyond, he absently remarked, "Now, there's somethin’ ye donae see every day..," more to himself than to her.

"What's that, then?" Donna asked, shaking the blanket before folding it over her arm as she straightened. She turned to him curiously and took a step in his direction.

"Over there, on the playground," Peter replied, pointing.

Donna turned, following his gaze, to see a pair of children, a little girl and her younger brother holding hands as their mother gathered their belongings to leave. She smiled at them then looked closer, searching for the detail she'd missed that Peter found remarkable. Her eyes glazed over and her vision clouded as another pair of children walked up behind the first pair, the same girl and boy all over again. Donna suddenly couldn’t breathe as she was swept into a swirling vortex, assaulted by flashes of images she knew she should recognize, suffocated by a dangerous otherness from within, and her head began to pound relentlessly as she fought the darkness rising up before her, desperate to stay upright and almost as frantic to fall.

"Maybe one of those Mothers of Multiples play dates or some such," Peter mused, turning back to Donna just in time to see her clutch her head and collapse like a marionette with its strings severed, a faint gold aura playing about her head fading as she fell. “Donna!” he cried as he dashed back across the field and knelt at her side. He gently turned her over, checking for her vital signs before pulling out his mobile and punching in 999.

Donna was vaguely aware of a frantic voice coming through the dark, and she tried to focus on the words that filtered through. She could just make out a man calling her name before he started telling someone else where they were. She wanted desperately to answer, to get up and take his hand in hers, but the pain was too great and the darkness was insistent, pulling her to safety.

“Donna! Donna, can ye hear me?” Peter cried. She was suddenly hot as if she’d been standing too long and too close to a roaring bonfire. “Donna, wake up?” he pleaded, pulling her up against him and wrapping his arms around her limp form as he waited impatiently for the ambulance service to arrive. He could see her eyes moving fitfully behind closed lids and he gently tilted her head back, trying to keep her airway clear. She didn't appear to be having convulsions and he cradled her chin as he held her, grateful for the small consolation of her even breathing against his fingertips.

Donna felt cool lips ghost across her forehead and wondered what 'brilliant' thing she'd done now to prompt such a reaction from.... "Who....? Wha...?" she gasped as she struggled back to consciousness and found her head cradled against a man's shoulder. Her head still throbbing, she groped desperately in the air until a strong hand captured hers and again, there was a feather-light kiss on her skin. "Where?" She came back to herself and looked around frantically for a moment before her eyes focused. "Peter!" she cried, clutching his sleeve.

“Donna! Donna, it’s OK, there’s an ambulance on the way,” he soothed, trying to hide his anxiety from her. “Ye’re gonna be fine; just rest now.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and placed a trembling kiss on her temple, distressed by the heat still emanating from her. She knew his name, she recognized him and he felt his racing heartbeat slow a bit. Maybe just a fainting spell, then, and not something worse?

“Peter,” she breathed, relaxing into his embrace before abruptly jolting back in alarm. "Peter, please! Have I got a face?" she implored frantically, searching his eyes and trying desperately to stay with him as her hand lost its grip and she slipped back into the dark.

“Donna? Donna, please...,” he cajoled, gently stroking her cheek, "Wake up. Come back to me. Donna, wake up, now." Long moments later, her eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice and she raised her hand to her brow, shakily sitting up and looking into his concerned face. He reached up to brush her hair back again and was surprised to find her forehead cool to the touch once more. She took a deep, shuddering breath, put her hand on her forehead and made as if to stand, but he held her tighter to his chest. “Donna, take it easy, now. The ambulance is on it’s way...”

“What?” she nearly shrieked, pushing him away and leaping to her feet too quickly, swaying on the spot. Peter stood and put his hands on her shoulders to stabilize her, opening his mouth to persuade her to sit and wait when she rounded on him accusingly. “You didn’t call an ambulance, did you? You call them back, this instant, Policeman, and tell them...” Her eyes widened in horror as she looked over his shoulder at the street beyond.

“Oh, no, Peter..,” she wailed in distress. She leaned over then, head in her hands, spinning around on the spot before she straightened abruptly. She put one fist on her hip and jabbed fiercely at his chest with her other hand while declaring defiantly, “You called ‘em, you get rid of ‘em! They’re not puttin’ their mitts on me!”

“But, Donna,” Peter began reasonably.

“No ‘buts’,” Sherlock. I’m not havin’ it, I tell you!” Donna turned away, arms folded across her chest and wiped angrily at her face. She could tell Peter wasn’t convinced and she flopped down petulantly on the blanket she’d dropped earlier, resigned to the indignity she was about to endure yet again. This was the absolute worst thing that could have happened, and to have it occur here and now, in broad daylight, right in front of him? She choked back tears of rage and frustration as she heard the wail of the siren tremble and die.

Stunned at her sudden, unexpected outburst, Peter glanced over as the ambulance shrieked into the nearby parking lot. He turned and waved at the paramedics as they exited the vehicle, gear at the ready. They rushed to meet him and were halfway across the field when the taller paramedic’s eyes widened and his step faltered. He winced visibly as he approached, then rolled his head and squared his shoulders as he resumed his earlier pace.

“Mrs.Temple-Noble," he said as he brushed by Peter and tentatively knelt down beside Donna, inclining his head in greeting.

“I don’t want you pokin’ and proddin’ at me. Go away. I don’t want any of this.” She rounded on the paramedic, eyes blazing and angry, ready for a fight. She regarded him steadily for a moment before deflating and turning away. “And it's just Ms. Noble now, Geoff,” Donna finished quietly.

He took in the news with a grim nod before continuing. “Ms. Noble, you must know, this’ll only take a moment. We'll just take your vitals then we'll all be on our way, yeah?” He didn’t wait for her response or permission as he opened his bag and took out a stethoscope and a penlight and began his examination. "Anything different this time?"

"No," she replied in a small voice and she went white as she looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

"Headache?" Geoff asked, tipping her head back gently and flashing the tiny penlight into her eyes. "Same, better or worse?"

"Same," she whispered so quietly Peter wasn't sure he hadn't imagined her response.

To Peter’s surprise, Donna submitted to the evaluation almost meekly and without further complaint, not bothering to even look over at the man. He took a step back and motioned Geoff’s partner aside. “She refused treatment but your partner talked her into it. Why?” he asked curiously. After a moment’s consideration, he added, “And more importantly, how?”

The other man smirked knowingly before answering. “First time we got a call for her, she categorically refused treatment. So, of course, we left.” Peter nodded his understanding and smiled grimly, imagining what a categorical refusal might look like coming from Donna.

“And before we even got back or filled out the paperwork, this bloke from higher up came and had a word with our supervisor.” The paramedic gave Peter a significant look before he continued. “We were told, from that point on, under no circumstances were we to ever accept a refusal from Mrs. Temple-Noble and that her health was of the utmost importance." He nodded knowingly and hooked a thumb in Donna's direction. "Her file's been noted in the system, we reckon.”

Peter stood quietly, considering this new information and looking from Donna to Geoff as the paramedic quickly and efficiently took her temperature and pulse, asking her questions and making notations on a digital tablet. Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by an amused comment from the man beside him. “We think she must have felt bad about how she acted the first time after she had time to think about it. Every time we get called out to see her, a huge basket of fruit and baked goods is delivered the next day. We all fight over the banana bread,” he admitted.

Peter turned back to observe Donna as Geoff completed his examination and turned to replace his equipment in his bag. He had a final, quiet word with Donna before standing and moving back to his partner with Peter nearby.

“She’s fine. We can go now,” Geoff said to his partner as he moved back across the field and towards the ambulance. A peal of thunder rolled across the park and Peter looked up, surprised at how close the storm had become.

“But she had a headache and a fever! She was burnin' up, I know it!,” he cried, throwing out a hand to stop the man’s progress. “How can she be OK?”

Geoff stopped and gave Peter an appraising look. “You’ve not known Mrs. Temple...excuse me, Ms. Noble long, have you, sir?” he asked. When Peter didn’t reply, Geoff leaned closer. “A word of advice- with Ms. Noble in your life, get used to not knowing or get out. Simple as that.” He glanced back at Donna almost sadly, then regarded Peter for a long moment before turning and resuming his trek across the field to the ambulance beyond. Geoff’s partner merely shrugged, giving Peter a bemused look as he followed behind and the rain began to fall.

Peter watched them jog to the ambulance before turning back for Donna. He snatched the fallen blanket up and grabbed her hand, turning on his heel to stalk back to his car with a despondent Donna in tow. She was grateful for the rain then; it effectively hid the tears that had begun to freely flow.

“Do ye mind explainin’ to me what just occurred here, Donna?” Peter asked as Donna closed her door, his hands clenching the steering wheel as he stared out at the rain pelting down. It was the first thing he’d said since the ambulance left and Donna startled slightly at the harsh tone of his voice. She bit her lip as she stared out the window, her face turned away from him as her hopes fell apart and her heart shattered into a thousand glittering fragments.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes before trusting her voice to speak. “You’ve already figured out that today wasn’t the first time I’ve had one of these episodes. They started up a few months after I lost my memory and they scare me to death. I’ve been to every hospital, been poked and prodded and bled for every test they could come up with, but the doctors can't find anythin’ physically wrong with me. At first, they blamed it on epilepsy, but I found out that just meant they had no clue, since they couldn’t find any lesions or anythin’ else to explain these fits.” She wanted so badly to look over at Peter then, hoping to see something, anything in his eyes to give her the strength to continue but she was terrified that if she did, all she‘d find would be scorn and rejection. She decided that even if he was going to leave her, she at least owed him the truth. “When the doctors started suggestin’ I see a psychiatrist, I knew there wasn’t a medical reason for all this. They thought I’d just gone ‘round the bend." She rubbed her face in both hands and turned back to the widow again. "When they finally pass, I'm left with a horrible headache and the feelin’ that I was so close to rememberin' something very important. But I never do."

When he didn’t respond, Donna mustered the last of her courage and continued. “I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so, so sorry. I tried to warn you earlier,” she said softly, watching the raindrops course down her window, mirroring the tears that were streaking her face. “Just take me home and I won’t bother you any more,” she finished, suppressing a sob. She was unprepared for the vehemence of his sudden reaction.

“What?!? No, Donna, no. No!  I was frightened. I thought...I was sure... ,” Peter stuttered, uncharacteristically tongue-tied and awkward. He released his grip on the steering wheel and reached across to gently turn her face to him. “I mean, ye just dropped and I was so afraid I’d lost ye, and just after I’d found ye. I was angry that these random strangers knew more about ye than I do. And I know that’s no fair, to ye or to them, but I cannae help it. I...” Peter faltered for a moment before gently brushing Donna’s lips with his own. He could taste her tears in the kiss and he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes before whispering horsely, “I want to know everythin’ about ye, and I thought I’d lost my chance.”

Donna felt her heart stutter at the pain and fear in his voice, but she wasn’t through with her confession. "Peter, I know I lost someone in the time I was gone. When these fits start, I can hear myself screamin’. I'm tellin' someone that I’m gonna find them again. But I know I never, ever will. I don't know who they were, or what they were to me or even why I know it, but I do." She sobbed brokenly and clutched at his shirt, damp from the rain and her tears. “And now, I don’t even know if I want to. Oh, Peter, please, please don’t go...” she cried, even as he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. Time stopped then and Donna fell willingly into the kiss, desperate to make him understand. She didn’t want her past anymore; all she could see was her future with him, and the clarity of it all frightened her. Peter felt her melt against him and tried to convince himself that the tears staining his shirt were all hers as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss.

  
**********

Somewhere in Time and Space, a lonely traveller stared at a string of information rolling and bouncing about on a screen, nestled below a flashing light on a vastly complicated console. He considered his options before whirling around and dashing to the opposite side of the control panel. He consulted another readout before stepping back and leaning heavily on the railing behind him. Rubbing his brow wearily for a moment, he suddenly straightened and adjusted his bow tie. “Stable enough, for now,” he muttered as he returned to the console, throwing switches and tweaking dials as he went.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DI Carlisle and Donna Noble are embarking on a new relationship, but to what end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Thursday, 26 April 2012, 4:45 PM**

“You’re sure of this, yeah? Absolutely sure?” Peter demanded, waving his lolly in Alec Turner's direction as he stalked back to his office studying the report the Forensics tech had just given him. Alec followed him closely and nodded his assent.

“The results just came in to the lab, DI. As I was on my way down anyway, I thought I’d bring them by,” Alec replied. “The tests came back a positive match. The blood is that of your victim, one Alun Morgan of Chiswick, 31 years of age, a maths teacher at Isleworth and Syon. He went out with some mates from his football team for a drink Tuesday evening and walked home after, as always, about 9:30 PM. He was reported missing the next day when he didn’t show for his classes. Nothing out of the norm happened the previous night, according to his teammates.” Alec stopped and put a restraining hand on Peter’s shoulder. “They don’t know yet. I literally just got the report.”

Peter grimly nodded his understanding, pausing for a moment before pushing the door to Homicide and Serious Crime open. The dead man’s friends’ Missing Persons Report had just become a murder investigation, and he didn’t relish the thought of being the one to tell them. Rousing himself from that unwanted train of thought, he looked back at Alec. “And the prints? To whom do they belong?” he asked.

“That’s where this gets interesting, DI. The prints are not those of your victim,” Alec confided, cocking his head to the side and raising his eyebrows as he followed him into the room. “They’re being prepared to send off to IDENT1 right now. If your suspect’s been taken in for a recordable offence and is in the system, you should have fingerprints, DNA and mug-shots by about the middle of next week. There's a bit of a backlog, but it’s just a matter of time,” he said, smiling as he spread his hands in the air before him.

“And what have we here?” came a taunting voice from the back of the room. Peter and Alec turned to see DS Manfred Cave perched on the side of his desk, talking to his partner, Detective Colin Dexter. Making flitting motions with his hands in exaggerated mimicry of Alec's stance, DS Cave sang out, “What news have you flown in with?” before hooting with laughter and hitting Detective Dexter on the shoulder. For his part, Dexter looked apologetic as DS Cave smirked at Alec. Peter stiffened and opened his mouth, ready to retort but he stopped when Alec briefly touched his sleeve in warning.

“Detective Sergeant Cave Man,” Alec responded, inclining his head in tolerant greeting. Alec was rewarded for his pains by another snort of laughter from DS Cave, who grinned and waved him off as he returned to his earlier conversation.

“I’m sorry about him,” DS Ian Keating said as he crossed the office to accept the report Peter held out for him. “The rest of us don’t share his deplorable attitude.”

“Thanks, but it’s all right. He can’t help being a neanderthal, and he’s willing to take abuse as well as dish it out,” Alec said sotto voce and shrugged. He watched Ian read the report and look to his partner in surprise.

Peter nodded as Ian continued to read. “Aye, it’s all there. Turner said they’ve already sent the prints out and are running them in IDENT1,” Peter explained as Alec looked on. “So tomorrow, our investigation takes a new direction. Thanks to the lab and with a bit of luck, we’ll have a suspect.”

“Specialist Turner, I thank you,” Ian said formally with a pointed look at DS Cave. “You went out of your way to keep us informed of the lab results and I thank you.”

Alec inclined his head, graciously accepting Ian’s thanks, then looked expectantly at Peter. “DI Carlisle?” he prompted.

Peter frowned and bit the inside of his cheek, raising a finger to ask for patience. “Ah! I have it!” he said triumphantly before reciting, “I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give as one near death to those that wish him live...”  Peter rocked back on his heels with his hands in his pockets, eyebrows raised, looking quite pleased with himself. He waited patiently for Alec to continue, and Alec did not disappoint.

“But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, I knowing all my peril, thou no art,” he replied, grinning.

Ian looked between Peter and Alec, confused yet again by their banter. Catching sight of his face, Alec explained “All’s Well that Ends Well.” Ian merely shook his head and shrugged, still confused.

Suddenly, Ian clapped his hands loudly and rubbed them together vigorously. “Gentlemen! Thanks to excellent detective work,” he announced to all in the office, offering a nod to Peter before continuing, “and the diligence of our Forensics Team,” he continued, with another nod to Alec, ”we are well on our way to solving this case! This calls for a celebration!” He spun around to see Peter still grinning and thought that, at last, the DI was coming around.

“Indeed it does, DS Keating, indeed it does,” Peter agreed, glancing at the clock on the wall as he reached for his coat. Just as Ian was about to suggest they all reconvene at St. Stephen's in an hour, he heard the door open and turned to see DI Carlisle on his way out. “If you gentlemen will be kind enough to excuse me....” he called as he backed out the door with a lopsided farewell salute to Alec. Before anyone could say anything, he was gone.

Ian, perplexed at Peter’s abrupt departure, looked back at the other detectives in the office, spinning slowly on the spot with his hands outstretched in supplication. “What did I just miss?” he asked, to the snickers of DS Cave and Detective Dexter.

“Only the obvious,” Alec replied from behind him. Ian turned again to find him leaning back against the doorframe, his arms and legs crossed casually as he shook his head in amusement. "And here I always believed acute powers of observation were prerequisites for being a detective..." he added with a sphinx-like smile as he began to mirror Peter's mode of departure.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Ian demanded.

“Oh, he’s off to celebrate, all right," Alec admitted as he took a single step back into the office. "Just not with you lot. The DI’s found himself some female companionship, if I don’t miss my mark.” Once again, Alec made to leave, but this time he was halted in his tracks by a snort of derisive laughter, courtesy of DS Cave.

“That poof?” he snorted. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he hastened to add when he saw Alec staring at him. Alec regarded him for a long moment before responding. He saw DS Cave glance at him worriedly and realized the man really was concerned that he might have insulted him. DS Cave Man, he decided, was thoroughly course and crude, but not unkind. What was required here was a change in tone and an adjustment of attitude and Alec saw his opportunity.

“Oh, DI Carlisle is not of the Lavender Tribe,” Alex explained, nodding knowingly as he scratched his chin, sauntering back into the office.

“Really?! Why are you bringing him love notes, then?” DS cave challenged, gesturing at the lab report on Ian's desk. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Alec with frank curiosity.

The whole office had fallen silent and Alec became aware of the fact that he had a captive audience to the show he was about to put on. “Believe what you will," he stated nonchalantly, scratching behind his ear, "but take it from me: DI Carlisle is most assuredly not gay.” Alec examined his nails for just a split second before offering DS Cave his very best, dazzling "Aren't-I-Too-Clever?" smile.

“Prove it, Specialist Turner," DS Cave said defiantly, smiling back. The DS was warming to this game and Alec was pleased to see he now had the undivided attention of everyone in the room.

“Make it worth my while...” Alec smugly countered as several of the Detectives in the room laughed. He looked over his shoulder to see Ian sitting back in his chair, regarding him shrewdly. Alec surreptitiously winked at him before turning his attention back to his target.

“I bet you,” said DS Cave as he pulled his wallet from his pocket with a flourish, “a tenner.” He accepted the hoots and catcalls from the assembled officers with a nod and a slight bow.

Alec waited precisely ten seconds before responding. “Oh, so you’re not very sure then, are you?” he said derisively and he made to leave.

“OK, fine," DS Cave spat, relenting. "Twenty,” he said as he pulled the note from his wallet and held it up by the corners, snapping it tauntingly.

‘You’re on,” Alec tossed back.

“How’re you gonna prove it?" DS Cave demanded. "You can't pull that 'A Girl Just Knows' crap. I want proof! I wanna see him with a genuine woman!"

“You’ll see. I’ll give you proof positive that the DI has a girl in his life,” Alec promised. And probably in his bed, too, he thought. “Anyone else want a piece of this action?” he announced grandly as Ian rolled his eyes and turned back to the pile of papers on his desk.

**********

**Thursday, 26 April 2012, 5:30 PM**

Donna had no sooner put down her bags and taken off her shoes when there was a knock at her door. Surprised, she turned, smiling at the unexpected profile she saw in the frosted panels that lined her doorframe. Her smile turned to a grin as she saw Peter's shadow surreptitiously cup his hand before his mouth in the universal signal for a breath-check.

She opened the door, put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side, trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly. "Detective Inspector Carlisle, what are you doing here? You come to reexamine my testimony?” she teased. “Not satisfied with the first round of questionin'?"

“No a'tall, Miss Noble, no a'tall,” Peter smiled, “I was more than pleased with the outcome of our recent interview,” he said, fighting to keep his playful smirk from becoming a leer. “No, this time, I come bearin’ news,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Would you care to hear it?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping back to allow him to enter. “Come on in.”

“Thank you, but I was rather hopin’ that you would consent to accompany me to dinner this evenin’. I could tell you all about it then. Your choice, my treat?” he finished hopefully. He was on the verge of breaking into a grin and Donna realized she was about to do the same.

“That would be lovely, Peter. Just wait a mo while I grab my bag,” Donna called as she ducked back into her flat. They had spoken twice on the telephone since their day in the park together, but this was the first time their divergent schedules had meshed and allowed them to see each other. Donna had worked late on Monday, Peter had been required to fill in for an ill colleague on Tuesday and Donna had a standing dinner appointment with Nerys at the George on Wednesdays. Donna had begun to fear that Peter might be trying to avoid her and, for his part, Peter had begun to worry that Donna might have been put off by his reaction to her illness in the park. As a result, each was delighted to see their fears had been unfounded.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a table on the sidewalk outside the George IV, Peter chewing a bite of his sandwich and smiling at her as she speared a bit of her butternut squash and goat’s cheese pie. “So, the lab results are in from the blood forensics collected at the scene, thanks to you. It did belong to the victim. But the prints left behind in the blood are what’s important now. They did not belong to the victim, and so as soon as they’re identified, we have a suspect.”

Donna stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth, her pale features blanching even further. “So that man I saw stumblin’ out of the alley- he was the murderer you’re lookin’ for? Oh, Policeman, I’m so sorry I didn’t get a better look at him, I really am.”

“I’m no,” Peter told her earnestly. “Let his fingerprints convict him, not yer testimony. That man he stabbed in cold-blood and left to die was unarmed and wouldnae have harmed a fly, accordin’ to his mates‘ Missin’ Persons report. I’m glad yer name isnae involved with this business.” His smile returned as he added, “I am, however, glad that ye were willin’ to talk to me when I came lookin' for information. Thank ye,” he finished warmly.

Donna ducked her head and shyly smiled for a moment before looking back at his handsome face. She wanted to move closer and kiss him then, but she felt awkward trying to initiate so intimate a gesture in public. Instead, she fumbled about for a way to move the conversation forward. “So, then,” she asked, “what happens now?”

“Now, we wait,” he replied around a mouthful of sandwich. “The prints are runnin’ through the database and provided that the perpetrator has had a run-in with the law anywhere in the UK, we should have a suspect soon. If not, we have somethin' to go on at least. My partner announced this was somethin’ to celebrate, and I agreed, so here I am.” Peter sucked a bit of salt from his thumb and gave her an embarrassed smile when he caught her watching him.

Donna wondered how a man as astute as the Detective Inspector could seem to be totally clueless when it came to his affect upon her. She was going to be in trouble if every time the man ate - which seemed to be all the time, now that she thought of it- he made her want to pin him to the nearest wall and snog him for all he was worth. Dragging her mind up from the gutter and back to the topic at hand, Donna frowned for a moment. "Your partner- tallish, a bit dour, standard-issue haircut but beautiful green eyes?" she asked as she gestured at Peter with her forkful of pie.

He put the remains of his sandwich down and brushed his hands with his napkin. He considered her description for a moment and sat back, blinking. "Um, yeah?  Not how I would have put it, but an apt description all the same," he admitted, watching her carefully as he pulled at his ear. Peter briefly wondered how she would describe him to someone else before leaning back against the table. He regarded Donna curiously and waited for her to continue.

"I saw you talkin’ to him across the street the other night. Actually noticed him first, as you had your back to me," she confessed. "You do know, DI Carlisle, that this," she waved her hands about, indicating both the George and herself, "is not what your partner..." Donna raised her eyebrows and looked at Peter.

"DS Keating," he supplied at her prompting.

"DS Keating," she repeated, continuing, "had in mind when he suggested a celebration..."

Peter frowned momentarily before admitting, "I suppose, but this is where I wanted to be." He wanted to reach back across the table and take Donna’s hand to emphasize his point, but she was still gesturing about with her fork and Peter wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t turn it on him as punishment for being socially thick.

"You're gonna have some explainin’ to do tomorrow, Copper. You don't just abandon your mates on account of a girl," Donna admonished, stabbing in his direction with that blasted fork. He was positive then that he’d made the right call.

"Weeellll, they're not what I'd call mates," Peter divulged, scratching his neck. "We're cordial at work, but I donae normally socialize outside of workin’ hours." He was expecting her to really have a go at him then, and so he was surprised when she did the complete opposite. As she quieted suddenly and laid down her fork, he almost sighed in relief.

“Policeman, what do you do? Outside of workin’ hours, I mean,” she said, leaning on her crossed arms on the table.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Read, mostly. I run a bit. Go to the theatre. People watch," he said, realizing as he did how pathetic his life must sound.

"That's a lonely existence, Peter," Donna said quietly as she reached across the table to touch his hand. "You should make more of an effort at work. If nothing else, it helps with office relations. I know,” she offered, with a meaningful half-smile. “And you need to get out more, meet new people, make new friends."

He slowly turned his hand under hers, giving her ample opportunity to pull back if she felt she should, before loosely clasping her fingers. He watched her reaction as he began to caress the back of her hand with his thumb. “I thought I was doin’ just that right now,” he confessed. When she looked down and bit her lip shyly, he continued. “See, I've got my eye on a certain someone as we speak. She calls herself a Temp, but I'm seriously considerin’ askin’ her about the possibility of a more long-term, albeit still flexible, arrangement.” He let his words hang: he hadn't quite meant the double entendre that peeked tenuously from behind his statement, but it was too late now.

“But only if that’s what she wants,” he finished quietly. Her hand tightened on his and he grinned sheepishly before looking up to find her beaming right back. She didn't speak right away, but at that moment, her smile was response enough for him.

“She’d be a fool not to consider so generous an offer,” Donna commented, watching Peter’s smile grow wider, “but I wouldn’t wait too long to make a move, if I were you."  She was grinning back at him across the table and she was terribly afraid that her expression was just as goofy as his, but she didn't care. She quirked her smile to the side as she inched the fingers of her free hand towards his chips. She didn't really want one, actually, but thinking back to their first date, she just wanted to see what he'd do if she nicked one.

He saw her hand moving for his chips and raised an eyebrow. She seemed to pause, for a second, observing his reaction. He considered reaching out and trapping her free hand so he could hold it, too, but if she really wanted a chip, he didn't want to be stingy.

Donna's smile grew even more when she saw the uncertainty in Peter’s eyes. He'd noticed her unsubtle approach but he didn’t yet know she was playing a game with him, so she decided to give him a clue. She abandoned her stealthy approach and brazenly swiped a chip from his plate. She had watched him eat and knew that he liked his in vinegar as much as she did, so she dipped her stolen prize into a small pool at the side of his plate before leaning over and feeding it to him.

He almost laughed as he plucked the offering from her fingers with his teeth and then captured her hand in his, smiling around the chip as he chewed. “So. Enough of me and of work. Tell me more about ye, whatever ye want.” He kissed her palm before bringing their joined hands to the tabletop.

Donna’s smile grew a trifle wistful and she blinked slowly as she leaned away. _So here's when happiness starts to unravel_ , she thought sadly. “I dunno,” she said, stalling for time. “Nothin’ excitin’ about me to tell, I guess. You talked to Lewis, so you know just about everythin’ already.” She glanced back at him again, then away before he could read the resignation in her eyes.

Peter saw her apprehension and sensed that she was holding back, though he had no idea why. “You're evasive,” he said. When Donna failed to react, he tried a different approach. “You have no need to put on the “Woman with a Mysterious Secret’ personae to interest me, ye know,” he smirked, trying to make her laugh. “I’m already interested.” Instead of laughing, a sad look crossed her face before she looked away to avoid meeting his eyes. Peter hesitated before he resolved to tell her his own dark past instead. “Why donae I tell ye a bit more about myself then, eh?”

Donna brightened visibly when he offered to talk about himself. “Yes, I don't know anythin’ about you, other than your job, where you live and where you came from.” She hesitated, embarrassed by her obvious enthusiasm for changing the subject to focus on him. “How'd you end up here?” she finally ventured.

It was the one question he hoped she wouldn't ask, but of course, she did. He couldn't back out now, and after all, better that he was honest with her now rather than later, so he took a deep breath before answering. "I dinnae come to London by choice,” he started reluctantly. “A few years back, when I was still livin' and workin' in Kendal, I got sent down to Blackpool for a murder case,” he began, staring down at their linked hands. “Well, suspicious death,” he shrugged.

Donna leaned forward in her chair, chewing her free thumb thoughtfully. "Comes with the territory, I imagine."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded, looking up at her now. “So my partner--Blythe, his name was--Blythe and I were investigatin' and got onto our suspect, an arcade owner. I went to speak to his wife, as part of the investigation...” He trailed off a moment to gather his courage. “..and...we became ...involved.” He looked away, reluctant to see the disappointment and disgust he felt for himself mirrored in her face.

Donna nudged his hand as he hesitated. “Involved? As in...?” He gave her a pointed look full of self-loathing and Donna’s heart stuttered in sympathy at the broken expression on his face.

After a long, uncomfortable lull, he continued. “And her husband, also our chief suspect, was a real tosser. Lockin’ him up became somethin’ of a vendetta. It was even worse, after she'd blown me out.” Donna looked down at their joined hands on the table and then back at his eyes. She hadn’t pulled back yet, but he knew it was coming. “I put pressure on a few people....people I shouldnae have,” he finished quietly. He stopped then, unable to bear telling her that he'd urged them to lie. He looked up and shrugged, muttering, “I told you I’d been a bastard.”

Donna bit her lip and looked at him across the table. “What happened then? Was he guilty?” Her words were soft and measured and Peter took courage from the fact that she hadn’t jumped up from the table and stalked away yet.

“I donae know. I certainly hope no, considerin’ what happened next” he revealed reluctantly, running his tongue across his front teeth. He inhaled deeply and rubbed his nose before continuing. ”So this man, he found out about the affair, and put me under his thumb. Said he'd step aside, let his wife go if I looked the other way. He and his son were the prime suspects, and he wanted both of them left alone. And if I dinnae...he'd tell my superiors everythin’, and he'd walk anyway.” He glanced up at her before bowing his head and scratching at his neck, dreading what she might say next.

Donna sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes widening, and regarded him thoughtfully. “What did you do?”

“What could I do?” he said, sitting back with a sigh and stretching his legs out under the table. “I let them go. Both of them. And his wife left him, and came back to Kendal with me. Blythe was furious. He said he'd report me. Said he'd go over my head and take the case to the DSI.” Donna gasped involuntarily and leaned back slightly in her chair, but didn't let go of his hand.

Peter found he couldn't look her in the eye, not for this part, but there was no turning back now. “He eventually decided against that, but still, word got around. After that, I became the scum on the shoes of everyone in the department. No one wanted to take real action, but no one wanted to be around me, either.” He looked up in the air before continuing. “Then Natalie left me. Said she wanted to be on her own, be her own woman. That I gave her the strength to try.” He grimaced at the memory and Donna waited for the shadow of his past to fade. “Shortly after that, my DCI told me in no uncertain terms that I was leavin’ North Lakes. He dinnae care where I went, and he'd write me a recommendation; he just wanted me gone. Now here I am.” He reluctantly looked up at her then, not wanting to see her reaction.

Donna sat quietly for a long moment while Peter held his breath. She searched his face before slowly asking, “And why are you tellin' me this, Peter?”

“Because I donae want to hide anythin’ from ye, Donna. I want it out, in the open, now,” he admitted. “I donae want ye findin’ out about this later, hearing malicious gossip or somethin’ and thinkin’ I....” He clenched his jaw suddenly and looked away before continuing. “I donae want it to be an issue between us later on. And I donae want ye to think that I get involved with every woman I meet in the course of my duties.”

Donna nodded and leaned back in again, close enough to reach across the table and touch his cheek. “Peter, I'm so sorry. You must have really loved Natalie to risk everythin’ that way.”

He shied away from her touch slightly, feeling undeserving of her compassion. “Yeah. I did. Threw away the one thing I held dearest: my integrity. I donae think I can ever forgive myself. I'm an Inspector, I have to hold myself to a higher standard and I...”

“Peter, one mistake doesn't destroy all that you are,” Donna broke in. “You're human, you learn, you grow and you go on from there.”

He glanced up at her and his voice dropped. “I nearly set up an innocent man, or I let a guilty one walk free...either way...I'm no prize, Donna,” he said flatly. He had to make her understand.

“Nearly...you didn't do it.” Donna's voice stayed quiet, but took on an air of authority. “And anyone with eyes to see knows you feel terrible about it. Stop that,” she replied firmly. “You-made-a-mistake. That's-all. Love can be the worst sort of madness.”

He squeezed her hand, and raised his gaze again to her. He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Ye're somethin' special, Donna Noble,” he whispered as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She shook her head and batted gently at his shoulder, scoffing at his remark. “I'm not. But I do know special when I see it, and if Natalie couldn't see that she'd hit the jackpot with you, well, that poor girl needs to have her head examined,” she finished a trifle indignantly. “Besides, who am I to judge anyone? The way my family acts around me whenever I say or do anythin’ at all or - heaven help me - have one of my spells, I’m startin’ to think maybe I'm guilty of murder myself,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair and hugging herself despondently.

Peter blinked, confused and not following her train of thought and abrupt change of topic.

“I’m sorry- poorly worded,” she admitted. “The ambulance service always calls with a follow-up, askin’ about their service and all. When they couldn’t get through to me to ask about Sunday, they called my mum. She called me on my mobile immediately and we had a row over it. Somehow, it’s all my fault again.” She sighed heavily and gave him a lopsided smile. “What I mean is, since I can't find any record of an accident or anythin’, the only thing I can figure is I did somethin’ durin’ my missin’ time they don't want me to know about.” Donna stared into the distance, rubbing the ring finger of her left hand with the thumb and forefinger of her other hand for a few seconds. Then as quickly as she had drifted away, she was back with him again, shrugging her shoulders and offering a rueful smile.

Peter reached back across the table and took her hand back, looking her straight in the eyes. “Yes, ye ARE special. To me,” he told her seriously. “And I want to help ye find out what happened, if that's what ye still want. I couldnae find any accident reports in the records, but maybe I could talk to your family? Flash the badge and all that?” He opened his mouth slightly, the tip of his tongue touching his upper teeth as he waggled his eyebrows at her, trying to make her smile again.

She dipped her head with a soft snort of laughter, then looked up at him sadly. This wasn't supposed to have been about her. She had just wanted to do anything to distract him and stop him looking so unhappy. Her smile crept across her lips despite herself: Peter had his ‘Detective Look’ on now, eager to solve her mystery and make her happy. She marveled at the change in him: it was as if in trying to help her, he was able to heal himself as well. She considered for a moment before answering his offer.

“Peter, I really am afraid,” she confided. "What if I hurt someone? I know I must have done somethin’, but what could be so bad that I'm blockin’ it out? That's the only explanation I can come up with that makes sense.” She gestured desperately with her free hand, biting her lip and wondering aloud, “What if I'm a criminal?” She looked at him for a split second before they simultaneously burst out in giggles as the absurdity of worrying about that to a DI occurred to them both at the same time.

As his laughing attack passed, Peter wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that she was all right and that everything would be fine, but he knew she’d just scoff at his assurances. He thought that if he could find out what happened, to prove to her that there was nothing wrong with her, that she wasn’t damaged, then maybe she would accept it when he said she was special and important, to him.

“Oh, Donna,” he sighed, cupping her cheek again. “I donae think it's that at all. Ye have a good heart,” he continued after casting a playful glance at her cleavage, “and I donae think ye would bring harm to anyone, unless ye count exhaustion.” He finished with a wink as her eyes widened in surprise.

“Cheeky git! Don't think I didn't notice you checkin’ out my goods just now! Didn't you get enough of that this last weekend?” she said in mock outrage as she punched him lightly on the shoulder. “But thank you,” she concluded quietly.

He gave her a wounded look, feigning injury and rubbing his assaulted shoulder. “I cannae help it that ye're beau'iful. Or that yer top is cut incredibly low.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, “or that yer breasts are amazin’.” He smiled again, touching his tongue to his teeth, before pulling in his lower lip and worrying it between his teeth. He wanted to tell her so much more, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

“Peter,” Donna began cautiously, “I trust you - I do - but I have to warn you. My mum is a bit....intimidatin’. She's kind of a dragon, if I'm forced to admit it. I don't want you walkin’ into anythin’ unprepared.” She briefly considered talking him out of his plan, but she didn’t think she’d be successful and anyway, he might be able to discover something she hadn’t. “Please be careful.”

“Well...,” he replied, “I've dealt with some pretty tough customers in my day. I think I can slay a dragon...so to speak. Figuratively.” He floundered for a moment at the accidental implication. “I mean... “ he mumbled, tugging again at his ear uncomfortably.

To his chagrin, Donna didn’t let this one pass without comment. “So, you'd slay a dragon for me?” she asked mischievously. She reached across the table again and twined her fingers affectionately with his. “That make you my knight in shining armor?” she whispered, eyes dancing with amusement.

And just like that, there she was again, the woman he’d bantered with the first night at the George- intelligent, playful, confident and utterly amazing. He wanted more than anything to do whatever it took to let Donna feel free to be that woman all the time. “I'd be anythin’ ye want me to be, Donna,” he admitted.

She inhaled sharply and covered her mouth, stunned by the sincerity of his words before she relaxed again. “Peter, I want you to be happy,” she said breathlessly. “That's all I want. Just be happy.”

“With ye in my life, I think that's just possible,” he declared and Donna felt her eyes begin to prickle with unshed tears. Her insides fluttered at his words and she both cursed and was grateful that they were in such a public place.

“Oh, Peter, I hope that's always true,” she breathed. Donna knew it was too soon, that she'd only known this man for the space of a week, but it was already far too late. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she'd take his hand and follow him anywhere he wanted to take her. She'd go with him to the ends of the Universe and never, ever look back. It was odd, but there was something about him that made her trust him where she’d never trusted anyone else. In his presence, she just felt like she had come home.

Peter felt something shift in the air between them, and he wanted to run toward it and away from it in the same moment, this teetering uncertainly on the edge of something big. He was terrified and captivated and wondered if Donna could sense it as well. She was studying his face, looking at him like he was unfathomable. It was a look that made him want to be a better man, just to live up to that look, to deserve that look. He knew he was denying it to himself now, but the truth was there beneath it all; he was falling in love with Donna Noble. And even as he acknowledged the truth of it, he realized that it was far too soon to let her know.

**********

“Well, here we are,” Donna said, smiling nervously as she stood on the landing and opened the door to her flat. She turned back to look over her shoulder at the man she knew she was falling for and bit her lip, praying that she was making the right decision for once in her life. Hesitantly, but with growing conviction, she turned fully to him and kissed his cheek. She gently laid her hand where her lips had just been and looked at him, determined to say what she needed to now and not regret it later. "Peter, I...this has been so, so lovely. Everythin’. I mean it. And I want it to continue. I like you and I want to keep seein’ you, but..." She looked down at her feet, trying to muster the courage to go on.

Peter’s smile faltered for a moment, not knowing what she would say next. He fought to keep his apprehension hidden and his grasp on her hips light. He only hoped that when she finished speaking, he had both the strength and presence of mind to respond appropriately.

Donna glanced back up and the look on his face was nearly her undoing. His features had frozen slightly and she knew her hesitation was causing him distress. She took a deep breath, then plunged back in. "The truth is, we’re movin’ so fast and I’m afraid. I’m afraid we’re goin’ to wake up some day and find that we don’t really know each other at all. And I want to know you. I want to know everythin’ about you."

Relieved, Peter stepped closer in her embrace and her fingers tangled reflexively in his hair. "I want to know how you take your tea and what your favorite biscuit is. Do you sing in the shower and if you do, what’s your favorite song? Do you get misty over sappy movies, or worse, commercials, on the telly ? I bet not on that last one, but I do sometimes," she admitted.  "In short, Peter, I want this to last. I want to get to know you- the real you- and not just have our relationship be about ... you know..." She faltered waving airily with one hand while looking slightly abashed.

"What?" Peter said, wide-eyed and wickedly innocent.

"You know, Detective Inspector Carlisle....." she said pointedly.

"What?" he repeated, grinning openly now.

"Sex," she answered brazenly as she realized he knew exactly what she meant and was simply trying to get her to admit it.

Peter kissed her once, chastely, by way of apology before letting the grin creep back across his face and into his voice. "Are ye referring to the mind-blowingly spectacular activity we indulged in last weekend as mere sex?" he asked, incredulous. When her answering flush of color threatened to have her glowing in the dark, he gently teased, "Why, Donna Noble, your fair complexion has taken on an especially rosy hue...are you blushin’?"

"I’m serious, Policeman..." she said quietly.

"As am I, Ms. Noble," he answered, lifting her trembling chin with a finger and delivering a single, devastating kiss. He rested his forehead against hers as he gently clasped her about the waist. "And if ye want to wait, that’s fine with me. Donna, I've already told ye, I want to know everythin’ about ye as well."

He pulled back and looked at her sincerely before asking, "Donna, would ye care to go on a date with me this weekend? A proper one this time? Where the food isnae somethin’ that might have come wrapped in newsprint?"  When she smiled and nodded her agreement, he slowly, gently brought his face down to hers and kissed her again, lips barely brushing at first as the kiss built in intensity. She leaned gratefully into him, lost in his embrace, reaching up to caress his cheek and breathing in the scent of him. When he broke away, she looked up at him and smiled.

“I would go anywhere with you,” she told him before adding, “It doesn't have to be anythin’ fancy, though.” She dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, he really did like her as much as she liked him? Maybe this time, she could prove her mother wrong and be happy for once?

“Alright, then, nothin' too ritzy, but tablecloths isnae too much to ask, eh?” he chuckled. She smiled wider, seeing something promising in his eyes and in the warmth of his smile.

“Oooh, Copper, how about real flatware, no plastic utensils? That work for you?” she teased, tracing his lips with her fingertip.

“Aye. And wine,” he added as he turned his head to kiss her fingers. He briefly pulled the pad of her index finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before releasing it with a pop.

Donna giggled and added, “With glasses? Oh, you know how to spoil a girl, don't you, Detective Inspector.” She looked up at him, suddenly solemn. “Peter, thank you. This last weekend with you, and now tonight.., I mean, you're so...everything’s been perfect,” she finished awkwardly. She wanted to tell him so much more, but she was terrified that she’d end up driving him off.

He chuckled, and gently moved her hair back from her forehead so that he could press a kiss to her hairline. “Ye deserve the very best.”

“Pffftt," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. It was a habit, but she instantly regretted it. He really meant it, she realized, and she didn’t want him to misunderstand. “I'm sorry. I'm not comfortable with people bein’...complementary... with me. I know I come off as loud and, well, rude, quite often. I don't want that with you.” She leaned in close, her arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear, “You are the nicest thing to happen to me in a very long time, Peter.”

“Are you implyin’ that I don't know a fantastic lover when I have one, Miss Noble?” he asked, grinning at her. He paused for a moment before adding, “And ye're the nicest for me, as well Donna. Really.” He became serious, whispering, “I mean it.” He knew bad memories were showing on his face again and he tried to shake them off. He’d looked to his past for guidance and told her everything instead of trying to cover it up. He’d just revealed the worst of himself to her and she hadn’t run away. Instead, she looked beyond the blot on his past and found the good in him with which he’d lost touch. If they went no further in this, if everything ended right at that very moment, he at least had that from her and would forever be grateful.

Donna pulled back from him to search his face. Surely he was joking? Did he just call her his lover? She couldn’t breathe properly and when he grew serious, she was stunned. There was still something haunted in his expression, but he tried to hide it. He failed miserably, not from any fault of his own, but because she was so practiced at the art of deception herself.

“Oh. Oh, Peter,” she murmured as she leaned in to kiss away the distress she saw in his eyes and she couldn’t help herself. She fell deeper into the kiss, feeling her self control slip away as she twined her fingers in his hair again and pulled him closer to her. She had thought she was the only one who needed comfort, until she looked into his eyes. He shivered slightly and fell into the kiss, opening his mouth to hers, slipping his tongue out to trace the seam of her lips, asking entrance, wanting her closer. As he plunged into her mouth, he chased away memories of Blackpool and failed expectations, of himself and of others. He still felt guilty for not telling her everything outright, about how serious he’d been about Natalie, but he just wanted things to stay the way they were for just that bit longer.

“Mmm,” he hummed against her lips as her tongue found its’ way into his mouth. One hand tangled in her hair as the other pressed her closer to him. He was finding it increasingly difficult to control himself and stay true to his word. He knew that if they didn’t stop now, he’d sweep her into his arms and make love to her on the nearest horizontal surface he could find. “Donna,” he ground out, “when?”

She pulled back to look at him, confused. “What? When what?” she asked, dazed and disheveled. He was pleased to see that he could put her at a loss for words with a single kiss, as she had done the same to him.

“When can I see ye again? Tomorrow night? Is that too soon?” he asked, cradling her face in his hands. She bit her lip and nodded, thinking that tomorrow night wasn’t soon enough but he was honoring her wishes. She had dictated the parameters for their courtship and he was willing to abide by them, even as she seriously considered throwing them out the window.

“Tomorrow is fine. Tomorrow is brilliant,” she said breathlessly. “What time? Where do you want to....OH!” she exclaimed, remembering the day. “Oh....no. No, tomorrow is good,” she decided as Peter gave her a questioning look. “It’s just that I always meet Nerys at the George on Friday evenings, but I’ll call and cancel. It’s all right.”

“We could make it Saturday, instead,” he offered reluctantly. “I donae want to intrude on a standin’ engagement. Or we could meet her there, if you like,” he suggested and nearly laughed at the look of horror that passed over her face.

“No, no, that’s quite all right, really. Nerys will understand,” Donna lied. The last thing on Earth she wanted was to expose Peter to Nerys. _Oh, Peter is Peter, and Nerys is Nerys, and never the twain shall meet_ , she thought ruefully, not if she had her way about it. To her relief, he nodded and looked thoughtful.

“Anywhere ye’d like to go?” he asked her.

Donna smiled and repeated, “Thank you, but I was rather hopin’ that you would consent to accompany me to dinner tomorrow evenin’. Your choice, my treat?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter stops by the florist's on his way to Donna's for their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Friday, 27 April 2012, 6:45 PM**

Peter stood on the landing outside Donna’s flat, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Should he hide his offering behind his back and wait until she invited him in, or should he present them to her as she opened the door to greet him? He checked again to make sure the tiny presentation card was clearly visible, tucked under the twine that secured the bouquet in its wrappings then looked up, peeking around the doorframe to see if he could catch of glimpse of her in the frosted glass on either side. He heard the click of her heels on the wood flooring inside and stood back as he straightened his tie.

**********

He’d spent a full half-hour at the florists before their date, browsing about, unsure of what to get. He had meant what he’d said- she deserved flowers and Peter had set his mind to showing Donna how he felt, even as he was working out the finer details of his heart for himself. His uncertainty must have shown as he wandered about the florists’ chewing at his thumb, as the elderly proprietress had walked straight up to him with a basket in hand.

“It’s early days in the relationship,” she’d stated simply, standing beside Peter and looking at the roses on display.

“Yes,” he’d replied, stuffing his hands back into his coat pockets. He fumbled for the sweet at the bottom of his pocket out of nerves before glancing over at the elegant lady beside him and deciding that decorum dictated that he should wait. He grimaced slightly and rubbed at his ear, unsure of how to proceed and he was grateful when the florist continued.

“But you’re already in love, my boy,” she said, smiling gently as she turned back to him.

Peter blinked hard and politely stuttered, “Excuse me, mum? I donae know that I’d characterize the nature of my feelings as such right now, but I certainly do....”

Her smile grew understanding as the florist interrupted. “Trust me, young man, I’ve been in this business for forty years. I know the look of a man in love, whether he knows it yet or not.”

Peter nodded politely but was unconvinced. She read his disbelief in his eyes and smiled again. “There are plenty of men who pop in and just grab the first bunch of flowers they see- a perfunctory gesture, with no thought or care- the obligation bouquet," she said with a touch of disdain. "Usually, these are men who at least have enough breeding to observe the proper etiquette when approaching a lady, but they’re too busy to take note of anything. It’s just another box they’ve ticked off on their list of things that one does in certain situations.” She mimed checking off items on a list and then slapped Peter’s arm gently, and he was forcibly reminded of Donna.

She waved at the display cases full of elaborate arrangements and continued. “Then there are those who feel like they can buy love. They get the largest, showiest bunch they can afford- and sometimes more than they can actually afford,” she said as an aside, “and then they have it delivered. They want to overwhelm the lady without the bother of actually doing anything themselves. They let their wallets do the talking.” She shook her head and tutted sadly before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“Then there are the sweet young Romeos, who can only afford a single bloom to take to their lady-loves.  They usually go for a rose, clichéd as that might be. Their naiveté can touch the heart, but they're just boys playing the part. But,” she said dramatically, one finger raised and her eyes wide, “the rarest among all my customers is the thoughtful young man,” indicating Peter with a graceful sweep of her hand.

Peter smiled- at 41, he could hardly be called young anymore, but but given the probable age of the shopkeeper, he could see her point. He was actually enjoying listening to her and cataloging her shared wisdom for future reference. In his lifetime, Peter had discovered that many of the joys of life were to be found in the details, and it seemed she had many to share.

“Now, the thoughtful young man in love; unfortunately for the female population, he’s special; he’s rare. He understands that flowers mean something, that they can speak volumes to a lady, even when he himself is unschooled in the language of flowers.” She turned with a decidedly theatrical flourish and her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Did you know, young man, that in past times, there was an entire floral lexicon? It was called floriography. People could carry out entire conversations by way of flowers without ever having to exchange a word.” She was obviously enjoying her performance and Peter was pleased to be her audience.

He nodded and replied, “I remember my Shakespeare. ‘There's rosemary, that's for remembrance,’ "he quoted and smiled suddenly. “I’ll be needin’ a fair bit of that in a bouquet.” He nodded to himself, pleased with the symbolism and he wondered if Donna would recognize it.

“Good, good- that’s an unusual but pleasant base for an arrangement. Appeals to all the senses. It will be memorable and something to use again in the future if the lady approves. But what to add to it?” she wondered aloud. She turned to him then. “What can you tell me about the lady, please?”

“Uhm, she’s brilliant and brash and beautiful,” Peter said, feeling slightly sheepish. He scratched at the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the conversation, feeling a bit as if he were discussing his love life with his Gran. “We’ve been datin’ for about a week now and...” He trailed off uncertainly, not knowing what else he should divulge about the relationship.

Sensing his discomfort, the florist gently prompted, “What did you first notice about her?”

“Her hair. It’s a lovely shade of red,” he admitted with a wistful smile. He remembered the feel of her hair as it slipped through his fingers, the bright, fiery arc it had made when she had thrown back her head in ecstasy as they’d made love, and the scent of her shampoo as she’d lain in his arms after. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet before returning his attention to the florist who regarded him with an openly indulgent expression. He swallowed awkwardly and tugged at his ear again.

“It’s quite all right,” she said coyly as she made a show of rearranging the flowers in one of the many buckets arrayed before them. She turned and batted her eyes at Peter in amusement. “I was young, once, you know.” Peter colored slightly and bit his lip in consternation before she took pity on him and continued. “So what is it you want to say to the lady?” When he didn’t answer, she moved to a collection of buckets a few feet away. “Let me start and you can refine the message as we go. She’s a ginger, so we’ll add a few coral roses, then. I’ll tuck them right here in the heart of the arrangement, shall I? Those mean passion and desire, you know,” she added with a wink. “Now, something to represent you, then...Ah, I have just the thing!”

She danced gracefully past him and plucked a large bunch of Scottish Thistle from another bucket. She deftly divided the blossoms, skillfully arranging them around the roses at the center of the bouquet she was constructing. “It’s an exquisite color and not often used in arrangements, due to it’s prickly nature, but I find it to be a beautiful metaphor for human nature, don’t you think?” she explained.

Peter ducked his head in an attempt to hide his smile. He was captivated by this tiny, formidable woman and wondered what a force of nature she must have been in her youth. She was thoughtful and learned and she definitely knew her business. “And what’s that mean in an arrangement?” he asked as he moved closer to watch her.

“Nobility, of course,” she replied and Peter grinned even wider. She looked critically at the unfinished floral arrangement and laid a thoughtful finger against her lips. “What this needs is some white for balance. What shall I use, young man?” She indicated a nearby collection of blossoms with a poised wave. “Snowdrop means consolation or hope,” she said, then turned to another nearby bucket. “Rainflower means I love you back, and I will never forget you,” she offered. “Then of course, we always have honeysuckle, which means devoted affection and the bonds of love.” She fingered the fragrant blooms and turned back to face him. “Your choice.”

“Could I...would it be too much...?,” he asked quietly as he considered his options. “Would you include a bit of all of them? I’m sure it would be lovely,” he finished as a smile curled across his lips.

The proprietress nodded her agreement and turned to complete his order. She moved back to the counter with the flowers they’d selected and he followed. As he leaned on the counter and watched her nimble fingers at work, she trimmed the stems at an angle and placed them in a small reservoir that would be hidden in the wrappings. Peter was surprised at the level of service she had provided and wanted to express his appreciation of her expertise. “Excuse me,” he ventured politely, “but is there a source for this information? Somethin’ I can read on floriography, perhaps?”

“Oh, Flora's Lexicon is one of the recognized works of quality on the subject,” she told him as she wrapped the finished bouquet in brown paper and secured it with old-fashioned twine. She held out a hand expectantly, eyebrows raised, and he fished about in his pocket for his wallet.

“I'll have to look that one up next time I’m at the bookstore,” he said as he handed over his credit card.

“Oh, it’s long out of print. It’s from 1839, if memory serves,” said the florist. “But you can still read it. It's on Google Books,” she said with a smile. “Probably get it right there on your mobile.”

His surprise must have shown on his face, as the shopkeeper grinned and in her eyes, Peter saw an impish twinkle. “I was a typist with the Home Service during the war effort,” she confided. “My granddaughter has helped me keep my skills current.” She reached over to the printer and plucked out the receipt and the small card that followed as well, handing them over with a knowing smile. Peter was about to shove both in his pocket when something in her expression gave him pause. He examined the tiny card in his hand, turning it from the to/from fields and the standard canned platitude to the back. Printed there in tiny letters was a list of the flowers in the bouquet, along with their meanings: a keepsake love letter in miniature. He looked back to find her regarding him smugly, his perfectly-wrapped purchase in her extended hands.

“Thank you. Thank you, very much...." He said gratefully, and paused- they hadn't introduced themselves and she wasn't wearing a name badge.

"My given name is Wilhelmina, but everyone calls me Minnie," she said with a flirtatious smile, handing back his credit card, “Peter.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Minnie,” he replied. “I’m sure we’ll be seein’ each other again.”

“I certainly hope so, Peter,” Minnie confessed as she watched him walk out the door with a wave back to her. “I certainly hope so.”

**********

“Oh, Peter, you shouldn’t have!” Donna squealed in delight as he presented the bouquet to her with a slightly self-conscious flourish. She kissed him soundly before stepping back and pirouetting in the kitchen, biting her lip and looking about for a vase. She stood on tiptoe, cradling the flowers to her chest lovingly, as she pulled a simple crystal vase from a top shelf and moved to the sink to fill it.

“Nah,” he scoffed, pleased by her reaction. “I’m simply rectifyin’ my earlier oversight on the occasion of our first date.” He moved behind her and gently wrapped his arms about her waist as she laid the bouquet on the counter and began to untie the twine. Her fingers found the diminutive card artfully tucked into the packaging and she beamed at him as she turned in his arms and kissed him again. He held his breath as she pulled the slip of paper from the envelope and saw her name written for the first time in his handwriting. Her smile deepened and he felt his heart stutter as she leaned in to kiss him again. “There’s more,” he whispered, breaking away from the kiss and carefully taking the card from her to turn it over. He watched as her eyes moved across the tiny words printed there and her giddy expression faded, her eyes sparkling with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“Oh, Policeman,” she breathed, “this is beautiful.” Donna wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled him to her, her lips brushing his tenderly. She sighed her contentment as he returned the kiss, cupping her face in his hands. He stepped even closer to her then, and tucked her head under his chin as he hugged her to his chest. She melted into his embrace, listening to his heartbeat as he gingerly stroked her hair for a long moment. Finally, when she was sure her voice wouldn’t break, she leaned back and caressed his cheek. “Peter, this is the most perfect thing anyone has ever, ever done for me: I love it. Thank you.” She leaned in to kiss him again and Peter felt her lips tremble as they met his.

As he fell deeper into her kiss, Peter marveled at how well Donna had received his offering and silently thanked Minnie for her assistance. What could easily have been a trite and almost compulsory gesture had been transformed, with her direction, into poetry composed in foliage and flowers. It was the perfect beginning for their date, and considering the way Donna was smiling at him right now, he was reasonably confident that the rest of the evening would follow suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Flora's Lexicon on Google Books](http://books.google.com/books?id=GblLAAAAMAAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false%0A)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our intrepid Detectives get a break and Donna makes a few things clear to Peter Carlisle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Seriously, when can the Twins come out and play? I miss them both.... Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Tuesday, 8 May 2012 12:20 PM**

“The results of the fingerprint analysis have just come in," announced Detective Sergeant Ian Keating as he strode into the office, waving a stack of papers excitedly. “We have a name! Bence, Jack Bence."

Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle looked up from his pastry, hastily brushing crumbs off his hand against his coat before reaching for the report. He read through it once, then looked back at Ian. “What?" he mumbled around a mouthful of doughnut. “This boy? He's the one who took down Alun Morgan?" He sat back and stretched his long, lanky legs under his desk, slumping in his chair as he studied the picture of Jack Bence. “I dunno- says here all he's been taken in for is defacin' public property. He's no even a petty criminal, more of a - a graffiti artist?" Peter rubbed his eyes and leaned forward on his desk, resting his chin in his hands and considering the photograph on the table before him.

Ian raised an eyebrow at Peter's distinction and ventured, “Maybe he's moving up in the world? On to bigger and badder things?" Peter scoffed openly and Ian tried another train of thought. “Maybe Morgan surprised him at work?"

Peter frowned, then shook his head. “Naw, I donae believe it. He's a spray artist, only in the Database because he wouldn't leave his gear and wasnae fast enough to run with it one night." He examined the crime scene photos from Bence's arrest which included pictures of his work. Graffiti art wasn't something he appreciated, especially as an officer of the law, but he did have to admit the young man had talent. His work was painstakingly composed, beautifully colored and featured themes which focused on social justice.

“Ian, look at this," Peter continued, tossing the photos back at his partner. “The boy's actually got talent and he's and conscientious about where he paints. Not on private property or where someone who cannae afford it would have to have it removed- no, he paints where his peers will see it and be able to appreciate it, but not where a pensioner would have to repaint his fence. He seems a careful boy, actually." Peter crossed his arms and pursed his lips in thought. “A bit wild, maybe, but violent? I donae think so.” Peter leaned over and tapped a photo of an enormous Storm Trooper from Star Wars with a daisy tucked into his laser rifle's barrel. “His work is all anti-violence but with a sense of humor: very socially conscious stuff. What's a man like that doin' walkin' around London carryin' a stiletto?"

“Still,” DS Keating persisted, “what're his fingerprints doing in the dead man's blood?"

“Good question," he answered with a puckish grin. “When we find him, we'll ask him.... “ Glancing furtively at the clock on the wall, Peter stood and stretched with deceptive casualness as Keating continued, flipping back through the case notes. Peter reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone, smiling at the screen.

“According to this, your witness saw someone stagger out of the alleyway and lean against the glass where the prints were found," said Ian, looking up and catching the tail end of Peter's smile. He frowned momentarily before deciding to let it pass. “Let's have her come in and look at some pictures," he suggested, reaching for the phone as he flipped through the notes again to find the witness information.

"No," Peter said bluntly. “No, she herself said she hadnae seen his face and couldnae identify anyone." He shook his head as he moved around his desk and took the case notes back from his partner, tucking them into a folder.

“Well, then, maybe when we locate Bence, she can come in to ID him in a lineup?“ he persisted, reaching back for the folder Peter held.

“Drop it," he ordered flatly. “She's of no further use to us in this investigation.“ DS Keating sat back and blinked at the dangerous note in his partner's voice. He had heard DI Carlisle use that menacing tone when interrogating difficult suspects but had never thought he would be on the receiving end of the implied threat. Peter eyed him warily, leaning across the desk to grab the witness information before backing away from Keating and heading for the door, almost colliding with Detective Dexter in the process.

Keating's eyes widened and he stood quickly, grabbing for his coat. “And where are you off to?" he called, sidestepping Dexter and heading after Peter. “It's nearly time for lunch. I thought we'd start looking for Bence and get a bite...."

Peter cut him off. “I have a previous engagement." He glanced down at his phone and thumbed a reply, never breaking stride. “I'll be back within the hour."

 

***************

  
Donna had just sat down at the table with their lunch order when Peter breezed through the door, with an expectant smile. He realized she must have noticed his habit of sitting where he could observe the goings-on in a room since she had selected the table in the far back corner for their lunch date. He walked straight to her and gave her a quick kiss before taking a seat across the table from her. With a bit of training, he thought, she would make an excellent detective in her own right.

“Ye look lovely today," he said to her, admiring how the deep blue of her blouse contrasted with her copper tresses. “How long will the good people at Cheltenham & Gloucester PLC be availin' themselves of yer considerable talents?" he asked, grinning at the answering flush spreading across her cheeks. He loved that he could make her smile and blush so easily, but wished she would accept his complements as sincere. “This location is dead useful for me and my future plans."

“And those plans are?" she countered, biting her lip to suppress her own grin. Whenever he smiled like that in her direction, her insides fluttered and she wanted to get him alone in the nearest broom cupboard and snog him silly. She idly wondered for just a moment what he'd say if she suggested it.

“Why, to see ye every chance I get, of course," he replied, watching her smile morph into a delighted grin.

Donna's hand inched closer to his, then, but remembering the time and the place, she detoured to pick up her fork. She dug into an order of spicy crayfish noodles and watched as he unwrapped the sandwich she'd ordered for him. Anticipating his reaction, Donna warned, “Before you complain about your lunch order, I've got one word for you, Policeman: don't."

“I was no...," he began before she abruptly interrupted.

“I've seen your eatin' habits, when left to your own devices, and quite frankly, they're rubbish," She was brandishing another bloody fork at him, albeit a plastic one this time, and Peter sat and waited for her to finish her offensive. “I don't know how you stay so thin, what with all the junk food you eat, but it's high time you took better care of yourself." She was waving her fork in the air as she spoke, and Peter suspected she was just getting warmed up. “Remember, Copper, I've seen the insides of both your pantry AND your fridge."

“Donna, this is fine, really. I like smoked salmon," he explained as he picked up his lunch and took a bite. “I do!" he insisted as she regarded him suspiciously. “I just never really gave much thought to what I eat. I'm usually on the go and grab whatever I can is all. My metabolism pretty much keeps my weight in check and," he paused, considering his next words carefully, “there hasnae been anyone to be concerned for my health in a long while."

“Well, there is now, and you're gonna mind what you eat. I don't mean you should give up sweets and such altogether, but really!" she said emphatically, with another jab of the fork. “The way you eat, you're gonna put yourself in an early grave and I wanna keep you around as long as possible."

Peter laid his sandwich down and reached across the table then to capture her hand, taking the fork from her and placing it on the table. “There now, first time I've felt safe since I sat down," he quipped, kissing her hand gently as she flushed a particularly fetching shade of red. “Point taken and efforts to take better care of m'self will commence immediately. Satisfied, Ms. Noble?"

Mollified, Donna hid her embarrassment at her outburst by blustering, “They better, if you know what's good for you, Policeman." He was grinning openly at her now, and she ducked her head and glanced away for a moment to regain her composure. When she turned back, he was still beaming at her as if he were completely daft. “I mean it," she finished weakly, suppressing a laugh without much success.

“It's nice to be able to see ye for lunch. How long are ye gonna be here at this position?" he asked. He reached for his drink to give his hands something to do besides stretch out for hers.

“Oh, about six months. I'm fillin' in for a girl out on maternity leave. I used to temp a lot with her before she got this permanent job. The first girl they sent in was offered a full-time job when someone else got a promotion. Iona knows I don't want full-time and would do a good job in her absence, so she felt safe with me taking over the second half of her leave," Donna finished, matter-of-factly. She neglected to tell him that the deciding factor for her taking the job was when she realized his offices would be almost across the street from hers.

“I'm glad ye're closer now. I've missed ye these last few days," Peter confessed, his smile widening and his eyes twinkling.

“You just saw me night before last, you big dumbo!" Donna reminded him as she slapped playfully at his shoulder and retrieved her fork. She looked at him closer and added, “But somethin's botherin' you. What is it?"

Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise for a moment, considering what to reveal. “We've identified a suspect in the murder of Alun Morgan, but I dunno,” he admitted. “His prints were the ones found in the victim's blood at the scene, but somethin' about it all just doesnae fit.”

Donna paused with a forkful of noodles halfway to her lips. She rested her elbow against the table and asked him thoughtfully, “What is it that doesn't ring true for you? You don't think he's the murderer?”

“Yeah, I donae believe he did it. Seems out of character, if you will,” he said quietly, his eyes losing focus. He shook his head quickly and brought his attention back to Donna. “I know that even a good man can be pushed into doin' somethin' wrong in the heat of the moment, but this doesnae seem right. I mean, what was a graffiti artist doing carryin' around a stilletto?" he concluded, frowning and scratching his head. “It's a puzzle, it is.”

Donna cocked her head to the side with a puzzled frown of her own. “But if his prints were there, in the blood? If he was the man I saw stumblin' away?”, she asked, trying to make sense of the whole situation.

Peter nodded, conceding her point. “Oh, he was there, all right. He was involved, but the killer? I donae think so...” he said, pointing at her for emphasis, his voice dropping back into a more pronounced Scottish burr. He sat back and chewed his cheek thoughtfully before shrugging and picking up the last of his sandwich.

Donna speared the remaining crawfish in her salad and bit into it, chewing while she considered his words. She swallowed and asked abruptly, “What will you do now?

Peter finished his sandwich and reached for a napkin. “Track down our suspect,” he admitted around the last bite of his lunch. He swallowed and reached for his drink, pausing to give her a sideways glance. “Other than that?” He shrugged, then smiled wickedly. “Well, I suppose I'll just have to reinterview a few key witnesses.” He arched an eyebrow smugly, clearly indicating her.

“Oh, bother,” she complained as she lowered her chin and looked up at him through her lashes. “So you'll have time, but it looks like I'll be tied up with that blasted Detective Inspector.” She reached out and touched the back of his hand, letting her fingertips trail along his fingers. Peter turned his hand palm-up and took her hand in his. “Just my luck. It's always the way- I never seem to be in the right place at the right time,” she finished sadly all the while smiling, trying to tease him into responding.

“I seem to recall,” he said huskily, “that as far as I'm concerned, you were in **exactly** the right place at the right time a few Saturdays ago.” He leaned in conspiratorially as he spoke, the last bit stage-whispered into her ear, then planted a kiss on her cheek before she could respond.

“Let me amend that statement, then,” Donna responded, mimicking his speech patterns. “I never seemed to be in the right place at the right time, until I met you, that is.” The playful teasing disappeared from her voice and she tightened her grip on his hand.

Donna couldn't help it- she glanced at her watch and mentally calculated how long it would take them to get back to his place verses her flat. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. It was the middle of the day, after all, and they both had jobs to return to.

Besides, she thought wryly, she had been the one to make the bold declaration that they needed to slow down their relationship, and she wanted to kick herself for it. In the past twelve days, the four dates she'd had with Peter had all been lovely and all had all ended exactly the same way. He would escort her to her door and leave her safely on the threshold with a single, heart-wrenchingly perfect kiss before turning and melting into the night. The damned man knew exactly what he was doing to her and it made her want to scream. Now here she was walking about perpetually aroused as a result and she had only herself to blame. She opened her eyes to find him shamelessly studying her face with a curious expression.

“I've missed you, too, and I'm very happy for you,” she explained. “You've been workin' hard on this case and I'm just glad I could help out a bit. You're good at what you do, you know.” Donna regarded him thoughtfully. “You can see things others miss. That's a gift.”

Peter was just a bit too smug about his abilities to pretend to be modest. “I've wanted to be a detective since I was maybe--fourteen?” he scratched his head, thinking about how long ago that was. “I grew up readin' Sherlock Holmes novels and the like. It's only dumb luck that I turned out to be brilliant at it,” he said, folding his arms across his chest as he sat back in his chair. “I'm good with people,” he said, “Except for when I'm bad with them. People think I'm an ass, sometimes, but I can sure get them to talk.”

“Sherlock Holmes!” Donna crowed, laughing aloud. “You're gonna regret tellin' me that, Policeman, I promise!” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial level and she leaned across the table. “Can I be your Watson?" she asked as she pushed the remains of her lunch aside.

“Of course,” he replied, fighting to keep his eyes on her face and not on the cleavage she was inadvertently displaying to him. “Have I told you how lovely you look in blue?”

She stopped teasing abruptly, remembering something he just said. “Stop tryin' to change the subject,” she told him bluntly. “Peter, there's nothin' dumb about you at all- not even your luck. AND,” she continued, on a roll again, “it's your job to get people to talk. If they think you're an ass, well, they must have somethin' to hide,” she concluded self-righteously on his behalf.

She paused, thinking that she was coming on a bit forcefully again and tried to change the subject herself. “So, are we still on for later tonight? What are we doin'?”

He grinned wolfishly, happy for this opportunity and hoping he hadn't misread the signals Donna had been giving him. “Well, I was hopin' to have my girlfriend over tonight, cook her a wonderful meal, and then, if I'm lucky...” he dropped his voice to a whisper only she could hear, “make love to her on the sofa. Or the bed. Or maybe both.” When Donna could only look at him in shock, he added thoughtfully “...or the floor.”

“Lucky, lucky girl,” Donna gasped when her ability to speak reasserted itself.

“But...she's the star witness in this murder case...” he said with reluctance, spreading his hands before him with a shrug.

Donna gave him a questioning look before he continued. “She's spendin' all her time with this dashin' D.I. and I think I might have to up my game. If I'm gonna hang onto her, that is,” explained, quirking an eyebrow and giving her a playful smile.

Donna smiled back, relieved. “Oh, I dunno," she demurred. “I think you're dashin' enough to keep her interest. And if she's so daft as to run off with another man, you can always call me. I'd come runnin'.” She winked at him.

His humor evaporated and he grew serious. “Donna, I'm very happy we're together.” He leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips and she smiled even wider at his admission.

“So am I, Peter.” A sudden thought occurred to her and she pulled back, frowning. “Wait a minute- somethin' you said a moment ago. Seriously, do I have to look at photos or ID someone in a lineup? Appear in court, testify or somethin'?” She chewed her thumb in consternation.

“Naah,” he scoffed. “With blood and fingerprints, there'll be no need,” he assured her. There was no way he was going to involve her more than necessary in this business, if he could help it, and she visibly relaxed at his words.

“Oh, good,” she mumbled. “I mean, I would, if you needed me to,” she hastened to add, “but I dunno if I'd make a good witness, with my history, that's all.” She was too quiet for a moment before looking up and offering him a lopsided grin. “So, you mentioned a meal tonight? Do we need to go shoppin’? Can I help? After all,” she smirked, “I want your girlfriend to be impressed when she shows up.”

A slow, lazy smile spread across his face as he reached for her hand and gently stroked it with his thumb. “Oh, there's just ye. I donae want anyone else. What do ye want tonight?”

She considered the question momentarily, trying to decide between a serious or playful response and surprised herself when practical won out for once. “Oh, I like just about everything. Pasta sound good? Maybe with a little salad?” She was trying to think of something they could make quickly with little cleanup afterwards, she realized, so as not to interfere with what she really wanted and she blushed again.

“It just so happens I make a mean fettuccini...” he said, playfully enunciating the last word.

Donna brightened and leaned towards him happily, once again giving him an eyeful of creamy flesh. “Ooohh, that sounds wonderful!” she squealed. “Wonder if we can get some figs- I had them once in Italy with a little balsamic vinegar and some prosciutto...”

“I like the way ye think,” he said. “Shall we go to the market after work?”

“I tell you what, love,” she offered, not quite realizing what she had just said. “I'll get off work before you do. Why don't I shop, then come round when you get off work?”

He pretended not to notice her casual endearment, but his heart swelled with that one word. She'd been using it a lot lately, and maybe, he hoped, it wasn't just him who felt this thing between them growing bigger all the time. “I'll see if I cannae get off a tad early, meet ye at the market and drive ye back to mine?” he suggested hopefully.

“Sounds marvelous,” she said, licking her bottom lip in anticipation.

“Well, then, that's settled,” he said, rising from the table. “And now, it's time to go.”

  
Donna collected the rubbish from their lunch and tossed it in the bin as Peter held her drink for her and resisted the urge to fish in his pockets for a sweet. As he moved to get the door, he held it open for a man laden down with multiple bags and cups on his way out.

“Thanks, DI,” the man said as he backed out of the door and headed towards the Metropolitan Police offices.

“No bother,” Peter replied, nodding absently as he waited for Donna to join him.

“Who was that?” Donna asked, taking his hand as he walked her back to her offices.

“Oh, one of the lab techs,” he said casually. “They're always too impatient to wait for delivery, so they send one of the junior techs out to pick up. Kind of a rite of passage, actually,” he said, scratching at his ear.

 

***************

  
“Oi! What took you so long, then?” A man called from the back of the lab impatiently as Hamish Chapman walked in, juggling cups and weighed down with bags.

“You try and carry five drinks, a soup, two sandwiches, two pies and a salad over all by your lonesome, and get it all here without incident, will you?” he called back indignantly. “Next time, you can get your own bloody lunch!”

Alec walked over to collect his order, smirking at the man's cheek. This one had distinct possibilities, he thought. “Nah, keep the change,” he said, picking up his order and waving as Hamish fished in his pocket. Hamish nodded his thanks and started to distribute the rest of the food when he suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, Turner. Saw your friend over there,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Who's that?” Alec asked, walking towards the lunch table.

“You know, that DI you do that Shakespeare thing with?” Hamish explained as the rest of the techs descended on him, snatching their lunch orders in a flurry. “He was having lunch with some dishy ginger.”

“Male or female?” Alec asked, and Hamish rolled his eyes and mimed a curvaceous figure with his hands.

“Just as I thought,” Alec said thoughtfully as he headed down to Homicide and Serious Crime Command. “Well, we'll have to see about arranging to meet Lady Ginger, now, won't we?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has asked Donna over to his place for a bite. They may even eventually have dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- I owe you a bit more than usual on this one. And I'm still waiting on the Twins.. I miss them both.... Despite her involvement, I'm sad to say that any and all mistakes are my own.

 

**Tuesday, 8 May 2012, 6:45 PM**

“Hold on, hold on, hold on! I’ve got the key here somewhere, now...” Peter Carlisle moaned as Donna poked him repeatedly in the small of the back. His hands were full of shopping bags and he was juggling them as he fumbled in his pocket for the key, simultaneously trying to avoid Donna’s digging finger. She was giggling shamelessly as he hopped from foot to foot and she wondered how long he would let her get away with tormenting him before he inevitably retaliated.

“Serves you right, Detective Dumbo- I told you you should have been gettin’ out your key in the lift instead of accostin’ me,” she hooted as he finally got the door open, nearly falling over in his haste to put the shopping down. No sooner had he plopped the bags down on the counter than he turned and lunged at Donna. She shrieked and doubled over as he turned the tables and took advantage of her situation, tickling her mercilessly while her hands were still full.

“Oh, so I’m accused of accostin’ ye now, am I?” Peter cried indignantly as his fingers danced across her ribs. “Who was it that kept askin’ if the melons were ripe enough for my tastes as we stood in the middle of the produce section? Hmmmm?” he continued, pursuing her across the kitchen. “Who kept stopin’ short so as I’d collide with them in the middle of Sainsburry’s? Hmmmm? Don't think ye can play the innocent victim with me, missy!” Donna took advantage of a momentary lull in his attack and dived for the kitchen counter, barely managing to heave the bags up onto the countertop before Peter caught her about the waist and spun her around, protesting and laughing at the same time.

“Oi! I thought I already warned you about manhandling the produce,” she gasped when she finally caught her breath and could speak again. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before grabbing the hem of her blouse and pulling it down sharply in an attempt to put her clothing back in order, but only succeeded in straining the buttons and accentuating her breasts as Peter pulled her closer. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears and her hands fisted in his shirt as he slowly began to brush his lips across hers in a painfully cautious kiss, full of want and need. Just as she was about to lose herself in his embrace, she was rudely brought back to her senses by a wayward melon that had rolled out of the bag and come to rest against the small of her back.

“We.....we need to sort out the shopping now,” she said breathlessly, feeling about for the fruit nestled up behind her. Peter leaned against her, reaching behind with one hand to capture the offending produce they'd bought when they’d discovered figs were out of season. He hefted it carefully as he drew it from behind her back and stood there for a long moment, considering the fruit in his hand with a tiny wicked smile. Based on his expression, Donna knew if she could see his thoughts played out on a screen above his head, she’d find them both starring in an extremely erotic film. “Hand that here,” she said, biting her lip to keep her own anxious smile contained. She extended her hand and waited for him to comply.

He looked up at her through his eyelashes, hesitating before replying, and Donna wondered if he knew what that look did to her. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she had found out that he’d calculated the effect on her of every gesture he made, of every word he said and had come to a precise formula for seducing her. She was certain that he knew that watching him eat would raise any outcome by a factor of ten. “Sorry. Forgot about the shoppin’ for a moment,” he admitted. Peter handed her the melon while casting her a knowing glance. “I get a bit carried away at times,’ he finished with a shrug before moving to start sorting their purchases.

She mock-sighed and rolled her eyes at him, wondering aloud, “Men...what is it about round, firm objects and men?” She turned back to remove the rest of the produce from the shopping bags and laid each item on the counter. As she pulled a bunch of bananas from the bag, she waved a hand in circles in the air. “I swear, it's not like every time a woman picks up a banana, she's thinkin’...” She trailed off, embarrassed at her obvious train of thought.

He laughed then and looked back from the fridge at her. “We humans are sad creatures, aren't we?” His smile spread and became a grin and she noticed the tiny lines around his eyes that only appeared when he was well and truly happy. They were quickly becoming one of her favorite things about him, as their appearance always heralded a perfect evening, whether they were out and about or home on the couch.

Donna smirked at him, knowing that he was quite aware of what she'd been thinking and yet he had decided to let it pass unremarked-upon. “Yep- humans are pretty rubbish about their hormones, I reckon,” she replied and focused her attention on putting the extra produce away while studiously avoiding making eye-contact. If she looked at him properly now, it would be all over. Once again, she mentally kicked herself: she had been the one to put the brakes on their physical activities, not him.

When she reached into the bag for the second melon, Peter carefully closed his hand around her wrist and took the fruit from her hand. He slowly brought her hand to his lips, kissing her open palm before replacing the melon in her grasp. ‘Indeed we are,” he agreed, closing the distance between them. Taking her by the hips, he leaned in to kiss her and Donna was stuck holding the melon awkwardly between them.

“Peter,” she drawled when they finally broke apart, “is that a banana in your pocket?” It was a bad joke, one of the oldest in the world, she knew, but she just couldn’t help herself, especially when he flashed her that maniacal grin of approval.

“Don't be silly, Donna; no one just wanders about with a banana in their pocket..." he admonished, taking her free hand and carefully moving it to the front of his trousers. Donna’s breathing faltered and for a moment, he thought she might actually drop the melon. The tiny part of her mind that had been focused on putting the groceries away disappeared into stunned silence and she had just enough presence of mind to lower her outstretched hand to allow the melon to roll across the counter before she pulled him closer and into a desperate kiss.

“OK, that's it, then,” she breathed into his ear. “Dessert first...”

He growled against her neck and pulled her flush against him, turning them just around the corner so that Donna was pressed against his dining room table. “Donna, are you sure? Do we know each other well enough for this now?” Peter asked breathlessly, all the while knowing that he was being dreadfully unfair, asking that of her now, under the circumstances. He’d experienced first-hand the consequences of rushing headlong into a sexual encounter without first knowing the other person and as a result, he’d been patient and understanding since the night she’d pulled back from their physical relationships. He had respected her wishes and been the perfect gentleman, always escorting her home and kissing her goodnight on the threshold. It was also true, however that he’d been cautious, making certain that they were never alone for long. He was only human, after all, and now that no one else was present, his resolve was slipping.

“Shut it and kiss me, Policeman,” Donna demanded as she pulled up his shirt and wiggled her hands down the back of his trousers. All conscious thought seemed sluggish and she allowed herself to act on instinct, grabbing his perfect arse with both hands and pulling him toward her as she leaned back across the table. Peter groaned at the feel of her palms on his bum and he ground his hips against her in response. He reached under her skirt, hands trembling slightly as he fought to control his actions and not be swept away by lust and raging hormones. He slowly stroked the insides of her thighs, enjoying how she twisted and moaned. He was suddenly quite glad that she was wearing a dress, and he wondered if she'd somehow planned this. He kissed her fiercely as his hands slowly slid further up her milky thighs, squeezing and caressing as he made his way towards his goal.

Donna might possibly be embarrassed if she stopped to think about her behavior so she simply chose not to think. She’d forced Peter to pin her to the table and although he was the one on top, she was the one in charge. She had worn her skimpiest knickers in the hope that, at some point in the evening, he'd remove them, but never in her wildest fantasies did she allow herself to dream about this. She could feel him growing hard as he leaned in close between her legs and when he pressed his obvious arousal against her, it made her hotter and wetter than she already was. The thin silk of her knickers was already soaked through when he reached higher under her skirt to stroke her.

He broke away from their kiss with a moan as he felt the wet fabric of her lacy knickers, tracing his finger lightly over her clit, teasing it through the silk. His breathing hitched as Donna shuddered beneath his touch and he bit his lip, watching her writhe in response to his caress. He leaned in to kiss her, humming in approval as he traced her lips with his tongue, reclaiming her mouth.

Donna was so far gone into her own arousal that she grew bold and wild. She wrapped one leg around his hip and arched up off the table, pressing her sex into his, crying out in frustration. “Peter, please, please, please,’ she chanted, breathing into his mouth. ‘Oh, please, Policeman- take me with my clothes still on.” She rolled her hips into him again and he groaned with pleasure against the skin of her neck, withdrawing his hand from between her legs to fumble with his trousers.

He freed his erection from the confines of his clothing and moved closer, pushing her skirt up to stroke her again over her panties. He debated pulling them off or pushing them aside, teasing her a bit as he traced his fingers over the outline of her folds. She saw the indecision in his eyes and clutched his arm, begging,” Push them aside, I need you now!”

Her words lit a fire in him that quickly spread through the length of his cock as he slipped his fingers beneath her knickers and ran one along the length of her folds, gauging her wetness. He sighed at the sensation as his fingers slid easily along her and he hooked a finger around the sodden crotch of her delicate undergarment before pulling it aside. Peter quickly moved to her entrance and with one of her hands clutching his bum in encouragement, in a single firm stroke, he entered her. He groaned at how wet she was for him, at her heat enveloping him, the feel of her walls clutching at his length: all these sensations together conspired to shatter his control. “Oh, bloody hell,” he gasped as he threw his head back and lost himself in her.

When Peter pushed the thin fabric roughly to the side, the back of her knickers bunched up between the cheeks of her bum and Donna groaned at the friction. She’d always heard that quaint French phrase, _la petite mort_ , a coy little euphemism for orgasm and laughed at it- until now. She realized that she'd never ever experienced anything like her need of him as, at his first thrust into her, she climaxed hard and fast, crying out as she did. Donna felt like she had died and was dying and she didn’t want it to ever stop. Her eyes opened wide in shock and looked up the long, lovely column of his throat as he came back to himself and slowly pumped his hips, thrusting again and again into her.

Peter bit his lip as he felt her coming around him and if he hadn’t been so far gone himself, he'd have wondered how that had happened. He felt a surge of masculine pride that spurred him on and he was determined to give it to her again, to make her come again, screaming his name. He thrust into her, almost worried he was being too rough, but since she wasn’t complaining, he wasn’t stopping. He struggled awkwardly for leverage, and finally, he gasped, “I'm sorry,” as he grabbed her knickers and ripped them off, freeing both of his hands to pull her closer. He used one hand to hike her left leg up higher on his hip, then both to grip her hips and pull her to the very edge of the table, giving him a better angle and the leverage he needed to thrust deeply into her.

Beyond all possibility of conscious though, Donna arched up instinctively, just enough for him to push completely into her. She was rewarded with a deep, desperate moan and in all honesty, she couldn’t tell if it had been from him or from her. She reached up and pulled the front of her blouse down, popping several buttons free and exposing the tops of her breasts in the process. Peter lunged into her chest, burying his face in her cleavage, nuzzling and licking her breasts with that amazing tongue. He was bent over the table, his rhythm strained by his divided attention as he brought a hand up to knead her breast through her top. He moved his fingers down to hook in the remaining buttons of her blouse and pulled them open further, exposing her lacy bra and more of her skin to his greedy mouth.

Donna threw her head back and muffled a scream as another powerful orgasm rolled through her. His mouth, and his hands and his cock and, oh! There was nothing else in her world, just him and him and him and then he was the one in charge and all she could do was react to his need.

As Donna's orgasm took her, Peter felt his own chasing after it. He brought his other hand to toy with her nipple as he thrust into her erratically, muffling his cries of pleasure between her breasts, losing himself in the feel of her skin against his lips as he spilled himself inside her. He didn’t want to stop and so he kept moving, struggling to keep the rhythm. Really he just wanted to feel her close and didn’t want it to end. He was spent then but clung tenaciously to the woman beneath him and the last vestiges of the moment. “Donna...,” he sighed against her skin, almost a whisper, his breath shaking. He felt like glass; like at any moment he could shatter into a million pieces and fall into oblivion.

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” she breathed into his hair, chanting his name like a prayer and Donna felt his long, lean body relax against her. She reached down and brought his face to hers, kissing him gently before licking and sucking at his gorgeous bottom lip.

As he collapsed against her again, he curled his arms against Donna’s sides to embrace her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and lost himself in in the feel of her against him. “I love you,” he sighed, and it was so quiet he was nearly certain she couldn't possibly have heard. He hadn’t intended to say it aloud: it was an admission even to himself, and he was terrified by the intensity of the feeling he had just recognized. Peter kissed her neck and then inched up her body, allowing himself to be claimed in another of her perfect kisses, savoring the sensation of her fingers in his hair.

Donna was grinning and sated and impossibly happy and she wanted him to know that it was all because of him. “Peter,” she began and then she stopped abruptly. He had said something to her, whispered against her skin, but so softly she couldn't quite make it out. It couldn't be what she thought she'd heard, what she was praying to hear from him some day, could it? She tried once more. “Peter, I...” she stammered and then he was kissing her again and it was too late. She had lost the nerve to tell him exactly what she felt, too afraid of ruining this perfect moment with the man she had come to love. She slipped her hand up to tangle in his hair and smiled anew as he relaxed against her.

******************

As she came to her senses a few minutes later, Donna glanced around the kitchen, bemused and uncomfortably aware that she was still splayed awkwardly across Peter’s table with the man himself sprawled against her. “Uhm, are you still hungry, love? 'Cause we've still got groceries to take care of or...,” she smiled a little awkwardly at him, “we could call for delivery.”

He smiled against her skin and kissed a trail from her shoulder to her lips. “No, no...let's uh, put ourselves to rights again and then ye sit down and relax. I'd still like to cook for ye.” Peter grinned, then kissed her again before standing and offering her his hand. “The offer of dinner wasn't just a ruse to get into yer knickers,” he finished as he pulled her up and into his embrace.

“Really? Good thing, I guess, ‘cause I don't think either of us will be gettin’ into that particular pair again,” Donna said with a feral grin. She leaned down and tried - and failed- to surreptitiously retrieve her ruined panties from under the table. “Hmm,” she mused aloud, “next time we decide to go all Neanderthal, I really should wear something a little less matchy.” She sighed and raised an eyebrow to him. “Either that, or I'm gonna have to start buyin' duplicate panties for each bra...” She tossed her ruined knickers in the trash and leaned in to kiss him again.

Peter moved back from her then, sorting himself and looking down at his feet. “Sorry about yer knickers, I just...I mean...,” he stammered, blushing.

“Oh, no you don't! Do. Not. Apologize. Not for that. Not ever.” She poked him in the chest with a finger and was amazed that she wasn’t embarrassed. She wasn’t: not at all. “You are amazin’, just brilliant. And I don't just mean the sex, either.“ She grabbed him by the tie they hadn’t bothered to remove and kissed him soundly before backing down the hall and into the bathroom, dragging him after, to his amusement. “Come on, you. Let’s get cleaned up first, then we’ll have a quick dinner,” she announced.

“Quick?” Peter asked, confused. “Do ye have to leave? I was hopin’ ye’d be able to stay, at least a bit longer...”

Donna reached up and began to loosen his tie, sliding it from around his neck. She unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt and kissed the hollow of his throat before murmuring, “Oh, I’m not leaving, Policeman. I remember a promise about the couch, the bed, maybe the floor?” She smiled against his skin, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and contemplated the possibilities her words contained. “The kitchen table was a bonus. As will be the shower, unless you dawdle about.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he watched her step back and reach behind to turn on the water in the shower. Her eyes never left his as she held her hand under the resultant stream, deliberately raising it slightly so that rivulets ran down her arm, soaking the filmy material of her blouse. As the water slid down her arm, the fabric collapsed and molded itself to her body, caressing her skin and clinging to her left breast before slowly coursing down the length of her torso. She drew her hand from the water and ran her index finger over her bottom lip before letting her tongue play across the wet tip, grinning invitingly as she slipped it between her teeth.

Peter felt himself begin to harden again and he reached for her, slipping the remaining buttons of her blouse free before peeling it from her shoulders. The drenched garment fell to the floor and pooled at her feet as he dragged her back towards him. “I know it’s a weeknight,” he whispered, kissing down her neck, “but will ye stay with me?”

“I don’t work tomorrow,” she sighed, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, all the while caressing his fine, taut chest. She dragged the shirt off him and tossed it out of the way before unfastening his trousers again. “But you....”

“I can be late,” he responded, anticipating her reply as he reached behind to unfasten her bra. He held her close as it came free and Donna shrugged, letting it slip to the floor between them. “It’s no a problem.”

“Well, then.” she replied, tugging at his pants as he toed off his socks. “Into the shower with you, Copper!” She stood back and grinned at her handiwork as he stood before her, naked.

He unfastened her skirt and let if fall to the floor, then dragged her slip down her hips. Donna was just as naked as he was, then, but she didn’t flinch or wince. “This is just gonna delay dinner that much more,” he breathed into her hair as he embraced her.

“That’s not what I’m hungry for right now...” she replied as she pulled his mouth down to hers and stepped back into the cascading water.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter takes the investigation into Donna's past to the next level. He was warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Enter the Dragon Lady. Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.

**Next Thursday, In a Manner of Speaking**

In the dim glow of the TARDIS console, the Doctor leaned over, intently studying the data streaming across the screen before him. He was uncharacteristically still as he pondered the possible implications and what, if any, course of action he should pursue., based upon the input he was receiving. The longer he thought about it, the more perplexing the situation became- after months of decreased activity, Donna's Time Lord consciousness was flaring up again. Even more peculiar than that, though, was the pattern of activity she was experiencing- the spikes were becoming increasingly frequent even as they lessened in intensity. He recalled with chagrin the recently-returned Donna Noble’s reaction to her memory loss. Mentally, she'd fought tooth and nail against the gaping hole in her existence when she first resumed her old life in Chiswick and ended up with nothing more than a series of migraines for her efforts. Lately, however, she'd stopped struggling and had begun to accept that her past was lost to her and in the process, he was sorry to say, she'd lost some of the vibrancy, the fire and the passion that he'd so admired in her. But she was safe and he would do everything in his power to ensure that she stayed that way- he owed her nothing less. He braced himself against the panel before him and leaned on it heavily, sighing deeply as he bowed his head for a long, quiet moment.

Abruptly, he pushed himself away from the TARDIS controls and spun around, sweeping his mop of hair out of his face with one hand. What this situation called for, the Doctor thought as he straightened his bow tie, was a closer inspection- a reconnaissance mission, carried out with all the stealth and subtly at his command. It wasn't the first time he'd taken it upon himself to reconnoiter, to gain insight into the mind of Donna Noble. He’d watched her closely after her return, starting with the unfortunate pub incident. He took complete responsibility for that unexpected occurrence- he had been so afraid of losing her initially that he hadn't taken the time to dig deeply into her sensory memory, to obliterate the taste of walnuts and anchovies and ginger beer and really!- what were the chances she'd ever run into that combination of foodstuffs again? He remembered fondly the shocked look on her face at his comment following the detox kiss and, not for the first time, he wondered who'd gotten the bigger shock that day. There had never, ever been anything between them other than friendship, and even if she had traveled with him forever, there never, ever would have been. But the Doctor knew that wasn't quite the same as never, ever could have been, given the wibbly-wobbly nature of time.

Now that he was determined to personally investigate this newest bout of Time Lord mental activity, he reflected on the irony of the situation. His new-to-Donna Noble face was both a blessing and a curse- he could literally walk beside her, all but reach out and take her hand on a crowded London street without arousing her suspicions or endangering her life. He ruefully recalled the time she'd caught him staring as he’d checked up on her soon after her divorce. She'd been volunteering at the RSPCA that day, and he'd narrowly escaped ending up with a puppy for his troubles.

He reeled about again and threw himself at the controls, muttering "Just what exactly is going on in that tiny human brain of yours, Donna Noble?" His smile was bittersweet as he realized that even though his best mate no longer traveled with him, he still phrased his rhetorical question so as to provoke the maximum amount of ire from her. He could almost hear her outraged "Oi!" echo through the TARDIS and he even missed her none-too-gentle punches, though if anyone accused him of that, he'd rub his shoulder at the memory and vehemently deny it. Pulling himself back from his reverie, he gyroscoped about the control room, bouncing from one display to the next as he set the coordinates for Donna Noble’s London.

**********

**Wednesday, 16 May 2012, 4:50 PM**

Donna Noble stood, wearily holding the strap above her head and wishing that she were already home, in her pajamas and in front of the telly as the train rumbled along the tracks. It was crowded with every available seat filled and each time the train hit a bump, the awkward young man beside her almost tripped over his feet trying to stay upright and off of her. Her first impulse was to unleash her formidable verbal skills on the wretch, but when she whipped around to give him a piece of her mind, he looked so remorseful, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Every time the train lurched and he unintentionally invaded her personal space, he mumbled his apologies and kept his face turned away, obviously embarrassed, no matter how many times Donna told him not to worry. When the train jerked to a halt at Ravenscourt Park, he fell headlong into her arms, flailing desperately with one hand in an effort to maintain his balance, barely brushing her temple in the process.

“I am so terribly, terribly sorry, miss,” he stammered as he wobbled back away from her and towards the open door, “You know, they really should look into adding comfy chairs in here. That would make this whole experience much less awkward.“ He smiled sadly as he turned away and melted into the exiting crowd. Bemused, Donna watched him disappear and marveled for a moment, wondering how he managed to survive in the city before forgetting him almost completely as she sank into the recently vacated seat beside her.

Instantly, she regretted sitting down. There had been an emergency meeting to complete the pending files of an employee who had unexpectedly gone on sick leave and as a result, Donna had ended up running back and forth between offices for most of the day. As she relaxed for a moment in her seat, her feet began throbbing and she tried her best to surreptitiously stretch, shifting her weight to relieve the pressure. She knew the pain would be worse when she had to stand and leave the train at her stop, but at least she could close her eyes for a moment and not worry about being flattened by a reeling giraffe beside her with every little bump on the line. She glanced at her phone and sighed petulantly when she remembered that it was Wednesday and she should be getting ready to meet Nerys at the George, but honestly, she didn’t have the heart for it. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was feeling a little despondent: other than a quick text just before 10:30 that morning, she hadn't seen or heard from Peter all day. Not that she should expect to, she chided herself- he was busy and had more important things to do than call her every time he had a free moment to breathe. She checked her mobile one more time and sighed heavily- just the one message:  

     Something’s come up. Can’t meet for lunch today. Will call later- promise.  
     P

Donna smiled sadly as she reread the message, but it was a good kind of sad. She was missing him, but she suspected that he was missing her as well.

**********

Peter Carlisle switched off the ignition and sat back in his car, studying the house across the street. It was neat and trim, like the rest of the houses on the nondescript suburban street and Peter checked the address once more before opening the car door. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before making up his mind, plunging his hands deep within the pockets of his coat, glancing up and down the street as he crossed. He’d worked straight through lunch and made his excuses so that he could leave a bit early in order to carry out his own personal investigation. Keating had regarded him suspiciously as he had departed and Peter silently resolved to make it up to his partner soon, maybe even accept the perennially-proffered invitation to St. Stephens, as long as Donna was willing to suffer through an evening in the company of his coworkers.

He stood at the door for a moment, contemplating if, in fact, he had the right to knock and intrude on Donna’s family. He hadn’t been introduced to them yet and, as far as he knew, Donna had never even mentioned his existence to them. How much cooperation could he expect, he wondered, when they didn’t even know him? Beyond his earlier offer, he hadn’t even reminded Donna that he was planning on interviewing her family, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor and that it would be easier to beg her forgiveness if the meeting went badly than to argue about the wisdom of his actions with her beforehand. He decided to go the official route first to break the ice before explaining that the reason for his inquiry was entirely personal.

He was saved the trouble of knocking when a fierce-looking woman snatched the door open, looked him over from head to toe and sneered, “What the hell are YOU doing here?”

Peter had encountered his fair share of hostile witnesses and was used to verbal abuse, but he’d never encountered this level of malice before he’d even had an opportunity to introduce himself and begin his interrogation. Taken aback at the unexpected vehemence of her attack, he stood there dumbly for a moment before remembering his purpose and continuing.

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you this evenin', but I’m Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle and I was wonderin' if I could...,” he began, reaching into his coat for his badge.

“Oh, you don't fool me, Lord Muck,” the angry woman spat at him, hands on her hips in eerie imitation of the stance he’d seen Donna take in the park when he’d insisted, against her wishes, that she get checked over by the ambulance crew. “First you play at being a doctor and now you're a policeman? I don’t think so.” She paused to draw breath and Peter lunged into the temporary breach.

“I’m lookin' into your daughter Donna’s disappearance and...” he began, flipping his badge out for the inspection of the woman he surmised was Donna’s mother. She snorted derisively, confirming his suspicions, as she waved his credentials away.

“As if I'd tell **YOU** anything about Donna,” she crowed, pulling the door open wide and jabbing a finger at his chest. Her voice rose in volume, mirroring her rising indignation. “You're not gonna come swanning in now and drag her away again. She doesn't live here anymore. She's married now and used that lottery ticket to go far away where you'll never find her again.”

Again with the odd emphasis on _you_ , Peter thought, as if she knew him personally; knew him, and hated him. He began his introduction again, changing tack in an attempt to get a word in edge-wise.

“Mrs. Noble, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me...” he began reasonably before she could muster a counterattack. It didn’t work.

“I’m not the one who’s made a mistake here!” she raved, “It’s you! Every time you get near her, bad things happen! Oh, can't you see you're no good for her?” Sylvia Noble cried in frustration. Looking at the confusion and distress on the face of the man at her door, she softened suddenly, pleading, “Just you go away- she's happy now, and safe without you.” She gave him one more lingering look, chin quivering as if she were almost on the verge of tears, before slamming the door in his face.

Stunned, Peter stood on the doormat, mouth agape, trying to decide whether to knock again or to wait and come back another day with Donna when he heard a muffled commotion from within.

“Don’t you dare open that door to that man!”

“Sylvia, he’s come back to help her, can’t you see?”

“Dad, no! He’s dangerous....”

“You don’t mean that! You know it wasn’t his fault!”

And before Peter had time to move back, the door was flung open again and an elderly man launched himself full tilt across the threshold.

“Doctor! Doctor, wait!” he cried, grabbing Peter's hand. “Oh, I knew you'd come back, you've found a way to fix her!”

“Excuse me?” Peter stammered in surprise.

“Oh, you don't have to put on an act for me, sir,” the old man almost sang in his delight, grinning wildly. “I never thought to see you again, after that last time. I'd always hoped, you know, after seeing you at Donna's wedding, to get a chance to thank you for that tick...”

Looking up for the first time into Peter’s eyes, Wilf trailed off into silence. There was something different, something wrong about this man. There was no hint of the of the boundless energy or near-manic restlessness he expected, barely contained in brown pinstripes, no answering grin of delight. Instead, a quiet, focused man clad in a white shirt and a black coat stood in front of Wilf, drinking in every word and gesture, letting him pump his hand in misplaced greeting.

“You...,” Wilf breathed. “You're not him.” He dropped Peter’s hand and took a step back, eyes never leaving Peter’s face and staring in undisguised disappointment.

“What are you on about?” the madwoman behind him screeched in disgust. “Of course that’s him!”

“No, it’s not, Sylvia,” Wilf barked, turning on her angrily, desperate to quiet her. They had already said too much, Wilf knew, and he abruptly shifted into damage control. “Now hush up!”

“You can’t tell me to hush!” Sylvia fumed, turning her accusing finger in his direction.

“I just did,” he retorted bluntly. “Now go on, before this poor man thinks you’re totally barmy!’ he finished, waving in Peter’s direction.

“A bit late for that,” Peter muttered in surprise, then looked back at Wilf apologetically. “Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle. You must be Donna’s grandfather,” he said, extending his hand again. “She speaks very highly of you, sir.”

Wilf hesitated for only a second before reaching to shake Peter’s hand in proper greeting. “Wilfred Mott, but my friends call me Wilf. And you'll have to forgive me, son, but Donna’s never mentioned you,” Wilf said evenly as he took another step back, the better to study Peter fully. “But I haven’t seen her lately, you know,” he explained.

Peter cocked his head to the side and grimaced slightly, nodding as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, but that may be down to me,” he admitted. “I’m afraid we’ve been monopolizing each other’s free time of late.”

Wilf raised an eyebrow at that, and considered carefully before continuing. “So, what can I do for you, my boy? If you’re a friend of Donna’s, why come here, for the first time, without her?”

Peter smiled at the question- direct, insightful and logical. He began to see who Donna favored in her family. “Actually, sir..,” he began.

“Wilf, son; call me Wilf,” he interrupted, “and are you in some sort of hurry? Got somewhere to be?” Wilf asked hopefully.

“Uhm, no, not really. Why do you ask?” Peter queried, frowning. He looked from Wilf to the scowling woman in the doorway, hoping that he wasn’t being invited in.

“Oh, no reason, no reason a’tol,” Wilf prevaricated, glancing pointedly at Sylvia before turning a steady gaze on Peter. “Walk with me, son, and we’ll talk and get to know each other.” Wilf turned to head down the street and glanced back to make sure Peter was following him.

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” Sylvia shrieked, poking her head out of the door but refusing to step nearer to Peter. “And don’t you think for one minute I don’t know EXACTLY what you’re up to!”

Wilf continued to walk away at a brisk rate, pretending not to hear Sylvia and motioning for Peter to follow.

“You’re heading up to the pub for a pint and a pork pie, aren’t you!” Sylvia accused. “Oh, you don’t fool me. Well, at least take this one with you!” she cried, pointing at Peter.

Peter, eyes wide with surprise, nodded slowly as he backed away before turning to follow Wilf down the street.

As he came to the intersection, Wilf jerked his head towards a tiny neighborhood pub across the street. Looking in the window and judging by the decor and the average age of the clientele on a weeknight, Peter reckoned the pub had stood there since at least before the Great War. “Enter and accept the sanctuary it offers,” Wilf smiled. “Sylvia never follows me in here.”

“Are you still on duty, son, or can you...?” Wilf asked as he moved without hesitation to his customary spot at the bar. Peter felt the weight of the stares that followed his progress as the pub patrons openly inspected the interloper in their midst. He had the distinct impression that his presence was only tolerated because he was escorted by a regular.

“No, sir, my time is my own. And I’ll have whatever you’re havin',” he replied, nodding towards the bar.

The man behind the bar nodded once in acknowledgement, and quickly drew two pints of dark brew. “Ta, Fred, ta,” Wilf said as he turned with his drink and headed for a table at the back of the pub. “Just need a word in private, you see,” he tossed off in explanation and Peter followed his lead, nodding his thanks to the barman as he picked up his pint, acutely aware that every set of eyes in the place followed them both curiously.

Wilf wasted no time as he settled into a chair at the far side of the table, facing the bar and the front door with his back to the wall. Peter recognized the placement and smiled momentarily, thinking fondly of Donna’s customary spot at the George. He had a feeling that Donna had been sent to collect Wilf from spots just like this many times in her life. She had clearly learned at her grandfather’s knee the finer points of pub life. He was roused from his thoughts almost immediately as Wilf launched his own investigation.

“So, Detective Inspector, how'd you come to know my granddaughter? “ he said without preamble. “Where did you two meet?” Wilf lifted his glass and stared thoughtfully at the younger man. Peter was amused at being on the receiving end of an interrogation for once, but he knew from experience that if you paid attention, it was possible to learn as much from questions as from answers. He sniffed slightly and rubbed at his nose before answering.

“We met as part of my investigation of a murder in her neighborhood a little over a month ago. I was questionin' passersby, searchin' for witnesses,” Peter explained. “I noticed her walkin' across the street, and her reaction when she caught sight of me drew my attention. It was if she'd seen a ghost.” Wilf visibly paled and took a long drink before setting his glass down awkwardly. “You OK, Wilf?” Peter asked, concerned.

“Fine, fine,” Wilf said, waving away Peter’s worries. “Just go on.”

Peter hesitated a beat before continuing. “Donna’s already told me that I resemble a man she met once at your house, just after her memory loss- a 'Dr. Smith'?” Peter raised his eyebrows in disbelief at the obvious pseudonym and inclined his head towards Wilf curiously. “What can you tell me about him?”

“What else has Donna told you?” Wilf countered, neatly sidestepping Peter’s inquiry. Peter regarded him steadily for a moment before responding.

“She doesnae remember anything about him before that night. She just thought it odd that a doctor would be at your home without obvious cause and,” he added, “that her lovin' family would withhold from her information concernin' this man. She’s convinced he knows somethin' of the circumstances surrounding her memory loss.” Peter noticed Wilf's immediate relief and concluded that the man would make a terrible poker player- every emotion he had was writ plain on his face.

Wilf looked down into his glass while casually asking, “And since you've been keepin' company,” Peter smiled at the old-fashioned euphemism as the other man continued, “has she had any funny turns? Headaches? Faintin' spells?”

Peter considered for a moment before answering. “Just after we started seein' each other, we spent a day together in the park. As we were gettin' ready to leave, Donna collapsed and I called out the paramedics. By the time they arrived, she’d recovered, but they checked her out anyway and didnae find anythin' out of the ordinary. They contacted Donna’s mother. I thought you’d know about that.” He pursed his lips momentarily before hazarding a guess. “How often does that sort of thing happen to her?” he asked, watching Wilf carefully.

“Who said anythin' about it bein' frequent?” Wilf returned evasively. He leaned on his glass, tapping the side with his wedding ring and Peter knew Wilf was watching for his reactions now.

“The paramedics knew her by name and on sight, Wilf,” Peter said calmly. “And they knew exactly what to say to to calm her and convince her to let them examine her. Quite a trick, if you ask me.” Peter watched Wilf absorb his comments, watched him close his eyes and drag his hand across his face. What Wilf wouldn’t say was as important as what he did say, Peter decided, and he wondered who was learning more in this exchange.

Wilf collected himself and tried to play off his reaction, wiping at his eyes with a trembling hand. “What triggered it?” he asked Peter suddenly. “Why did Donna collapse?”

Peter shook his head, frowning. “I dunno. The sky turned threatenin' and we were packin' to leave. I pointed out a couple of sets of twins- two boys and two girls playin' together- and she just collapsed. Thought at first she’d been struck by lightnin' or somethin’, there seemed to be a weird light around her, but...” Peter spread his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders, “no clue. Donna woke for a moment and said somethin' about her face, then she passed out again. But she recovered before the paramedics arrived, enough to give them a bit of a hard time.”

Wilf scratched his chin thoughtfully before clarifying, “Nothin’ to do with you, then, Detective Inspector?”

“Noooo,” Peter drawled, confused. When Wilf didn’t continue, Peter decided to redirect the interrogation. “All right now, I understand that I bear somethin’ of a resemblance to the mysterious Dr. Smith...,” he began.

Wilf snorted in derision, “Oh, it’s more than a resemblance, my boy, much more than that!“

“More than just a passin' resemblance, then,“ he conceded. “After all, you thought I was him, even up close.” When Wilf didn’t add anything to that statement, Peter continued. “Donna said she knew I wasnae him when she heard my voice...”

“No, my boy. No,” Wilf interrupted suddenly. “Your voice is the same, even. Just the accent is different. I really thought, when I heard you, from inside the house, I mean...,” Wilf looked away and trailed off sadly. His chin quavered and Peter was afraid he was about to break down and cry, but the older man sniffed once and defiantly lifted his face. “Go on.”

“Who is he, and how does he know Donna?” Peter blurted out, hoping against hope to overwhelm Wilf and startle an answer from him. “What wasnae his fault? How can he help her? Where can I find him?” He knew Wilf knew more than he was saying, much more, and perhaps everything he needed to know to help Donna, but Peter was taken aback by Wilf’s muted reaction.

“Those aren’t the questions you want to ask me, son. What is it that you really want to know?” Wilf asked softly. His eyes never strayed from Peter’s face and his hands had stilled on the table as Peter realized he could learn a trick or two from the elderly gentleman across the table. Again, he hesitated, knowing that his next question would show his hand.

“What was he to Donna?” Peter asked in a small, quiet voice, searching Wilf’s face for a reaction, any reaction at all.

“Just a friend,” Wilf replied carefully. “He and Donna were just good friends. Nothin’ more.” Wilf nodded once, perfunctorily, and Peter saw something of his military past in the precise nature of the movement and the implied dismissal of the subject. “Be careful, my boy. You may be the best thing that's ever happened to Donna, or you may be the worst.”

“And this Dr. Smith?” Peter prodded one last time.

Wilf considered his question for a long, silent moment before responding. “You remind me of him, in all the good ways,” he began sadly. “And I won’t lie to you; that hurts.” He paused, and his eyes lost focus as he gazed into the past. With an effort of will, he looked straight at Peter again and added, “What’s worse is you remind Sylvia of him....”

“One more question, then, Wilf. Why did you and Donna have a fallin' out? “ Peter asked quietly. “She says you used to invite her up the hill to stargaze in the evenings, but since her memory loss, you never have. It’s one of the reasons she left home.” Peter watched Wilf’s face crumple fleetingly before he looked back up at him. His expression hardened before he relaxed and shook his head sadly at Peter. After a long moment, Peter added, “She misses you, sir.”

Wilf frowned down into his empty pint glass for a moment before rousing himself from his seat. Walking straight to the bar, he placed his glass on the counter carefully. “Thanks again, Fred,” he called out to the man at the far end of the bar with a wave. He turned back to regard Peter wearily and warily.

“I hope to see you again, son, under better circumstances,” he said before turning, leaving Peter alone and confused, staring down into what remained of his pint.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you still on about the DI, Caveman?” Detective Dexter asked, pointedly looking at the contents of the folder in his hand and not at his parter. “Why don’t you just leave the man alone? It’s not like you don’t have real police work you could be doing, you do know...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.

**5:45 PM Friday, 18 May 2012**

DS Cave cautiously regarded the Detective Inspector from the safety of his desk across the office. The usual cacophony of the late afternoon served to camouflage his surveillance and, as DI Carlisle was engrossed in his investigation, he failed to notice the other man’s interest. DS Cave was indulging in a bit of research of his own, trying to ascertain the facts of the DI’s past. As a long-time officer, he had a few acquaintances sprinkled about the Met that owed him favors and the account of one in Human Resources was paid in full with a few quick printouts from the personnel files.

He had to admit- on the surface, DI Carlisle’s records were impressive. The man had a good close rate and had demonstrated ability- his superiors had praised him as being quick-witted and tenacious, and he had risen rapidly through the ranks. He’d been fast-tracked in his first position at North Lakes, and as such, had been called in to Blackpool for an overflow case, a run-of-the-mill homicide which did not result in a conviction. DS Cave had been an officer long enough to realize the lack of a conviction was inevitable in some cases, even if the perpetrator was known, but something must have gone wrong during this particular inquiry because from that point on, DI Carlisle’s records were starkly impersonal. Not that there was anything detrimental in them: in fact, they were text-book perfect, as though copied and pasted from a How To Write a Review manual, as flat and lifeless as if his superiors were observing him from behind the safety of a one-way mirror. DS Cave leaned on his desk, elbows planted firmly and hands steepled below his chin until the quiet voice of his partner startled him from his consideration.

“Are you still on about the DI, Caveman?” Detective Dexter asked, pointedly looking at the contents of the folder in his hand and not at his parter. “Why don’t you just leave the man alone? It’s not like you don’t have real police work you could be doing, you do know...”

Cave worked hard to suppress a smile. In the fifteen years he’d been with the Met, it was the first time anyone had bothered to bestow upon him a moniker and the nickname Alec Turner had settled on him was spreading through the office like wildfire. He would never admit it, but secretly, he was pleased. A nickname served to solidify his place within the force and indicated that he was enough of a fixture that people bothered to notice him. DS Cave knew he wasn’t good with people: he was too blunt, too direct and, if he was being honest with himself, too oafish at times, but it didn’t follow that he was unintelligent. What some officers could discover with grace and finesse, he could bludgeon out of those riled by his coarse and crude investigative techniques. It didn’t matter to him that he was unloved, as long as he was effective.

When DI Cave refused to respond, Dexter sighed, knowing his partner for the bulldog he was: once he felt he was onto something, nothing would distract him from his purpose. “If you’re dead set on investigating the private life of a superior officer,” Dexter finally offered, raising his brows in obvious disdain, “allow me to direct your inquiry. You might want to talk to that new tech upstairs. I overheard him talking to another tech about seeing the DI at lunch, more than once in the last week, with a ginger, and Carlisle being so engrossed in the conversation that he didn’t even spare him a glance.”

“What, have you been hangin' about the water cooler to gossip with the girls, then?" Cave asked with surprise. He knew that Dexter tolerated him, respected him, even, but he had no illusions that the man actually liked him. He narrowed his eyes and regarded his partner thoughtfully, knowing Dexter would eventually crack under scrutiny, and he did not disappoint.

"Call it curiosity," Dexter finally admitted with reluctance. "I'm as human as the next man. Besides, I've been noticing a change in his habits myself. The DI's never been a clock-watcher before, but now? Keep an eye on him, especially near lunch." Cave nodded thoughtfully and stroked his chin, still counting on his lack of a response to elicit more information from Dexter. The man just couldn't abide silence from his superiors, Cave had discovered by accident and now he routinely used that fact to his advantage. After a long moment's hesitation, Dexter added, "I noticed last week, and it stuck with me, as the DI almost plowed me over in his haste to leave one day for what he declared was a “prior engagement” at lunchtime."

"Ah, now you’re finally acting like a proper partner!” DS Cave murmured and he was surprised when a slight smile ghosted over Dexter's fine features. It was gone almost instantly but it had definitely been there, and Cave was even more surprised to find himself smiling in return.

Detective Dexter nodded at him once before turning on his heel, and DS Cave heard him mutter as he walked away, “All I know is it’s a bloody lot of work to be doing, just to save yourself a measly 20 quid...”

 

 

**********

Peter Carlisle stared despondently at the case notes he had written on the whiteboard earlier with his partner, Ian Keating. They’d had a fruitless day following up on leads that lead nowhere and tips that weren’t worth a penny. The community was beginning to clamor for a solution: Morgan had been a popular teacher with many friends and no one would be satisfied until the murderer was securely behind bars. Right now, the investigation was focused on Bence, and while he was convinced that the man was involved, Peter still didn’t think he was ultimately the killer. Try as they might to prevent it, the case was becoming high-profile in the local media and Peter reluctantly began to consider enlisting the assistance of the public in locating Bence. He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands and sighed loudly before turning back to Ian.

“Keating, much as I hate to, if we donae make significant progress in this investigation by this time tomorrow, we may be forced to enlist the aid of both the media and the public in locating Bence. Definitely not my preferred mode of inquiry, but with all the attention surrondin’ the case, it may be the best we can do.”

Ian nodded thoughtfully as Peter stood and stretched his aching back. “I’m forced to agree with you on that one, DI. We’ve tried everything I can think of- it’s like he’s vanished from the face of the earth...” He tapped his pencil on the desk before leaning back in his chair. “What’s next?”

“Next?” Peter said, leaning back against the desk, scratching his head. “Next, we go home. We come back fresh tomorrow and review every detail. We examine the evidence and hope to find somethin' we’ve overlooked. And if all else fails, we humble ourselves before the media in hopes of scarin’ up a lead.”

Ian pursed his lips and nodded his agreement, then shuffled the documents on his desk into a neat stack. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Ian said with forced cheer. “Bright and early. I’ll bring the requisite pastries.”

“Aye, but it’s on me, since you’re pickin’ up,” Peter said as he dug in his wallet and pulled out a tenner. “And no icin' on mine, eh? Get me a bit of whatever passes for healthy at the bake shop,” he said over his shoulder as he scooped up his coat from his chair, wearily walking out the door and down the hall. Peter was pulling on his coat as he waited for the lift when Alec Turner rounded the corner and spotted him.

“DI?” he called, “A moment?” He trotted down the hall and smiled when Peter turned to regard him curiously. “You comin to St. Stephen’s tonight?” he asked as he approached. “We were thinkin’ of organizin’ a darts tourney there. You any good? I need a partner and I wondered if you’d be interested,” Alec suggested with a sly smile.

Peter looked at him steadily and replied, “Not tonight, I have other plans for this evenin’.” It was the third time Alec had made a point of inviting him to the pub across the street from the Met, frequented by many members of the force. “Maybe next time?” he offered, feeling a tiny bit guilty for putting Alec off again. He glanced around as the door to the lavatory fluttered slightly, perhaps from the pressure difference as the doors of the lift opened behind him.

Alec took advantage of the distraction to press his point. “You can bring your other plans with you, you know,” he offered with a knowing lift to his brows. “Everyone’s welcome.”

Poker-faced, Peter stepped into the lift and turned to punch the button for the lobby. He leaned back on his heels and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his coat before looking up at Alec, a tiny, wry smile playing about his lips. Just as the doors began to close, he nodded reluctantly while looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe,” he tossed out just as Alec’s sly smile transformed into a grin.

“Maybe,” Alec repeated quietly, turning to catch DS Cave coming out of the loo with a knowing smile of his own. 

 

 

**********

Donna fumbled in her bag, trying to fish out her mobile before it stopped ringing. As she answered the call, she glanced at the screen and her heart fluttered when she saw the name on the display.

“Where are ye?”

  
 “Well, hello to you too, Policeman....” Donna said with a snort of amusement as she wedged the mobile between her shoulder and her ear. She stirred the pot on the stovetop and waited for Peter to respond.

“Sorry,” he apologized ruefully after a few awkward seconds. “It’s been a long week, and I’ve been lookin' forward to seein’ ye for days now.” He grew quiet for a long moment before admitting, “I’ve missed ye at lunch. Really, where are ye?”

At the slightly pleading tone in his voice, Donna took pity on him. “Home, making dinner. The advantage of bankers hours,” she said with a smile in her voice. “You hungry?” she asked casually, knowing the answer would be yes. When wasn’t he? She still couldn’t work out how he could eat so much, so often, and still stay so slim. She figured that it must be a hereditary trait and, if so, wondered whose metabolism their children would .... no. _No, no, no_ , she backtracked mentally, _don’t go there. That way, madness lay_. She shook her head and blinked to force a return to the here and now.

“I could eat,” Peter replied, trying for nonchalant. Truth be told, he was ravenous. He’d been so busy with what had appeared at first blush to be a promising turn in the investigation that he’d skipped lunch three days in a row, more out of stubbornness than lack of appetite. Donna had already chastised him for his poor eating habits and he’d promised to be mindful of what he ate, so he’d ignored the ever-present boxes of pastry and bags of crisps strewn about the office, making do with the occasional handful of breakfast cereal from the box he kept stashed in his cabinet. He could have gone down to the canteen for a proper lunch, but part of him didn’t eat out of spite, just to be a prick. He was being petulant, he knew, but stopping for a proper meal just would make him miss his lunch dates with Donna all the more. Hungry was an understatement.

“Well, love, I’m almost finished makin' a bite to eat with more than enough for two. Could I tempt you to join me here?” Donna asked. “I don't have anythin' planed, as such. Maybe we'd can spend the evenin', if you like, with a bottle of wine and some telly? It’s a bit late and I didn’t think you’d fancy goin’ out tonight.”

Peter sighed gratefully, starting to relax at the sound of her voice. “Oh, that sounds perfect. I can be there in..” he glanced at the clock on the dash and did a quick mental calculation, “ten, maybe fifteen minutes, traffic dependin'?”

Donna smiled at the change of tone in his voice and replied, “I'll be waitin’ for you.  I'm still in my work clothes, so I’m goin’ to go change. I'll unlock the door, seeing’ as how you're so close.  You know the buzzer code for the back gate- just come on in.”

“Will do. See ye soon,” Peter replied as he rang off, and Donna knew he was weary when he dropped heavily into his accent again. She unlocked the door to her flat on the way to her bedroom, pulling her blouse off over her head as she went.  She stripped off her pants and deposited them in the hamper inside her bedroom door before throwing open the closet.  She was still there, trying to decide what to wear when she heard her front door open.

Twelve minutes after he’d hung up, Peter entered Donna's home. He felt a bit unsure of himself for some reason as he set his keys on the table near her door. He smiled at the aroma of a home-cooked meal and looked about the open kitchen and living space beyond. “Donna?” he called, stepping into the living room and making note of the modern decor, the deep chrome-framed couch and matching chrome and glass end tables. It could have been an off-putting and sterile environment, but it was strewn with books, pillows and luxurious throws and perfectly suited to the wide-open space of the converted building in which Donna made her home. Another detail, he noted wryly, realizing that his head was still working on the profile his heart had already completed.

“I'm in the bedroom, love,” Donna called, still debating her options. It was too soon to go the sweatpants route, she had decided, but she didn’t fancy anything as stiff as jeans. She didn’t want anything too suggestive, - it might give him the wrong impression- but she still want to look nice for him. She finally opted for a white tank top with a comfy but snug midnight blue zip-up jumper over soft drawstring pants.  It wasn’t fancy, but it fit well and was both casual and flattering- and easy to get out of, if the occasion should arise. 

Peter bit his lip and ruffled his hair as he moved to the center of her living room, debating for a moment whether he should follow the sound of her voice. He’d only really ever been as far as the kitchen in her flat before and he worried about what she’d think if he just walked down the hall. He elected to go as far as the hallway and stopped to stand where he could see the doorway to her bedroom, just close enough so that he could hear her clearly.

“Be out in a tick,” she called to him as she stepped into her pants.  “Want to pour the wine while I get dressed?”

“Sure thing,” he replied and he headed back through the living area into the dining room. Peter saw that she’d put the wine and corkscrew on the kitchen island beside two wine glasses. He popped the cork and poured them each a glass before bringing them into the living room and setting them on the coffee table. He frowned, then picked the glasses up and started back to the dining area. Donna had made the meal, and while he might eat in front of the telly at home, he didn’t know what she preferred. He smiled to himself, thinking it novel that he knew exactly how to move his tongue against her to make her cry out, but not where she would rather eat dinner.

Donna walked in as he was leaning over the table and she smiled. _Does the man never change?_ He always had on the exact same thing every day- only his tie was different and even then, not by much. She supposed that made getting ready in the morning rather quick, but with a bum like his, it was worth a bit of time and effort to dress. She remembered his slim form clad in jeans and grinned- enter Donna Noble, personal shopper. She considered where to start in her efforts to slowly augment his basic wardrobe- after all, she was the one who would truly benefit. The man was already eye candy, but a bit of color in the wrappings never hurt. “Hello, Copper,” she said, as he turned to face her, a wine glass in each hand.

“Donna...ye look lovely,’ Peter blurted out. He looked at her dumbly for a moment before remembering himself and offering her a glass.

Donna scoffed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Right...,” she replied, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “No need for that. Dinner’s already made and you’re already invited.” She took a quick sip from her glass and set it down on the table as Peter opened his mouth to protest. Before he could, she moved closer and tugged at his lapels.

“Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile,” she teased gently. “Here, let me hang it up,” she said and suddenly her face went slack as she was swept galaxies away, standing with him in the swirling snow. She blinked repeatedly, as if clearing away an errant eyelash before coming back to herself again.

“Donna?” Peter asked, puzzled. “Are ye alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine, really,” she lied breathlessly. “Just something in my eye, is all.”

Peter paused for a moment, studying her face openly before setting his glass down and moving to shrug out of his customary garment. For the first time, Donna realized that she'd met her match in him. This man could see through her like no one else could, and no amount of bluster would throw him off any line of inquiry he chose to pursue. _What the hell was I thinking when I got involved with a detective anyway?_ , she thought ruefully. She couldn't help but smile at his questioning gaze and she was grateful when he nodded slightly and let the matter drop, but she knew that it was only a matter of time. Her clever DI would find out everything about her, eventually, and then he wouldn't be her DI any longer.

Donna took his coat and walked to the hall closet, turning the garment slowly in in her hands and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she did so. Peter watched her intently, looking for clues to explain her behavior. She stood for a moment pensively staring at the garment in her hand, and then, just as Peter was becoming concerned, she brightened and asked with forced nonchalance, "Peter, have you always had just the black coat, then?  Did you never wear a brown one?"  

"No", he snorted. "On a humble public servant's salary, I just have the one," he joked, eyes crinkling in amusement. "Why do ye ask?"  

“I keep havin' this dream about you, but I could swear you’re in brown,” Donna replied as she retrieved a hanger from the closet. She slipped his coat over it and replaced the hanger on the rod, smoothing the garment as she did. She spoke quietly without turning to face him, and he had to move closer to catch her words. “You were standin' there, in the wind, and you had your hands in your pockets. You were just...watchin' me. Didn't say a word...but I know it was brown."  She clutched at the sleeve as if searching for a hand to hold that wasn’t there and looked back at him from worlds away.

Peter tried to focus on her face, her expression, looking for telltale details, trying to make sense of it all, but careening about in his mind, confusing his thoughts, were the words she'd just uttered- _I keep havin' this dream about you_. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the forlorn expression on her face, but he forced himself to stand perfectly still and wait for her to continue. Donna shook her head slightly as if to clear away the memory and and the action recalled Peter to his purpose as well.

Donna noticed him studying her and smiled, suddenly bashful under his scrutiny.  She closed the closet door on her past but didn’t yet turn back to face her future. She couldn’t believe she'd just told this man she'd known barely a month that he populated her sleeping world and she could feel her face burning and prayed that he wouldn’t comment- it was far too much to hope that he wouldn’t notice. She turned around and attempted to bluff her way through the uncomfortable silence between them with a blatant attempt to change the subject, but she knew he’d recognize her ploy. "OK, Copper,” she quipped, “what would Freud have to say about that one?"

Peter though the faint blush creeping from Donna’s cheeks down to her exposed neck and cleavage was fiercely erotic and he couldn’t help but smile. He tried to hide his observations in deference to her obvious discomfort but she saw anyway and the pink deepened to scarlet. He considered her statement momentarily before answering in a casual drawl.

"Well, Donna,” he began, “Freud's theories on dream interpretation have been pretty much discredited in recent years, as there's no hard scientific data to support them.” He leaned back on his heels, acutely aware that his hands were in his pockets in unintentional imitation of her dream. He reached up to rub his nose briefly and sniffed before continuing. “Nowadays, research seems to be split as to why we dream. But the theory I like best is that dreams are merely our body’s way of consolidatin' and catalogin' the day's experiences. Not very romantic, I'll admit, but logical." He waited for her response, raising his eyebrows and leaning slightly towards her.

Donna’s bluster melted away and she smiled at him, bemused and amused. “Policeman, how do you know all that?” she asked as she watched him closely. It was her turn now to observe and catalog his reactions, preserving them for her own future reference.

Peter grimaced slightly and tugged at his ear. “I do have a Masters in Forensic Psychology Practice,” he admitted. At her continued astonished silence, he added, “I told ye that I'd been studyin' psychology prior to becoming a Detective. I went back later on to finish it up. I thought it might be advantageous in my chosen profession."

Donna looked at him, head cocked to the side and mouth agape. It was several seconds before she remembered to close her mouth and she did so with an audible click of teeth. “You’ve got what?” she breathed, looking at him with a combination of wonder and incredulity. “A Masters degree? In Forensic Psychology?.....Lord, I’m datin' a real-life scholar? First poetry and now this?” She put her hands on her hips, then self-consciously folded her arms across her chest and looked at the floor. For the first time since they’d started dating, Donna felt uncomfortable and inadequate. She could feel Peter watching her and she tried for a light, playful response and almost succeeded in pulling it off. “Well, just ‘cos you’ve got a fancy piece of paper, don’t go thinkin’ you can play any Jedi mind tricks on me, Copper!” she snorted, throwing her titan mane back over her shoulder.

Peter closed the distance between them and drew her into his arms. He hugged her tightly and spoke into her hair. “Donna, it was just a two year course, and it’s not unusual in the police service,” he said soothingly. “I decided against pursuing it further.”

At his words, Donna melted a tiny bit before shaking her head and wistfully musing, “Gorgeous and brilliant, that’s you. But whatever do you see in me, Policeman?“

“Donna Noble, I’m the lucky one here,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her. As she sank happily into his embrace, he wanted to tell her that she was the most important woman in his universe, because she was, but he was afraid it was a bit too early in the relationship for that. He settled for brushing her hair aside and kissing her forehead as he continued. “Ye’re bold and brilliant and beautiful, and the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.” He laid a finger along her jawline and gently tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “I wish I’d met ye sooner.”

She gave him a dubious look before smiling, deciding not to argue while enjoying his obvious flattery. “Me, too, Policeman,” she sighed and pulled him closer for a sweet, gentle kiss.

He reached over to the table and retrieved their glasses, handing Donna’s back to her and raising his own slightly. “To ye,” he said with a gentle smile.

“To us,” she responded, sipping her wine.

Peter leaned in to kiss her chastely on the lips before agreeing, “To us,” and Donna pulled back from the kiss, beaming.  She still couldn’t believe her good fortune in finding him and she realized she was staring at him with a dazed grin and quickly scrambled for a topic of conversation.

She took a deep breath and moved toward the kitchen, tossing back over her shoulder, “You got here quickly; it was twelve minutes and 28 seconds from your call to you opening the door. Were you in the neighborhood or somethin'?”

He followed her and leaned against the kitchen island, puzzled and amused. “Were ye timin’ me?” he asked incredulously.

“No, I wasn’t timin’ you, Policeman,” she said with a smirk as she took two plates from the cupboard. “I don’t even think I own a clock anymore. It’s just sometimes, if I don't think about it too much, I can tell the exact time. It really comes in handy when I’m tempin’- I can look at a situation and pretty much tell how long it’s gonna take to finish up a job and plan accordingly. Dead useful when I'm cookin', actually," she mused. “Chicken marsala, some pasta and salad?" she asked, and at his answering nod, she turned in his direction and shook a spoon at him. "Now, stop tryin' to change the subject."

Peter grinned bashfully and tugged at his ear. “Weeellll,” he admitted, “I was already on my way over when I rang. Thought if ye were busy I could turn around and go home.”

Donna blushed again, trying to hide her reaction as she set a plate down on the counter before her. “Don't tease me like that,” she said with a laugh.  “A girl could almost believe you. And if I believed you- which I don't - I'd drop everything if I knew you were coming over,” she finished sincerely.  She turned back to him and handed him his plate. “Now, before the food gets cold, where do you want to eat?” she asked.  “I've been known to just plop myself in front of the telly when I'm alone, but we can always use the table.  I don't usually have company....” she admitted, trailing off.

“Either or,” he replied. “I often do the same.”

"Telly it is, then," she announced as she moved to clean off the stovetop and put the dirty pan in the sink. “I don't even know what's on tonight, but maybe we could just sit there and relax.  My feet are killin' me after today. This is supposed to be a desk job, but they’ve always got me runnin‘ around. I'm gonna have to switch to flats at this rate."

"I appreciate ye makin’ dinner. I wasn’t lookin’ forward to fightin’ the Friday night crowd at the George. It was nice of ye to offer," he finished with a grateful sigh.

Donna hid her elated grin behind her hair at his assumption that they'd have gone out to the George otherwise- he was falling into her habits and seemed happy to follow her lead. She threw her titan mane back with a playful toss and scoffed, "Nah, I'm hoping to ply you with good food and wine in the hopes that you'll return.  Nothing nice about it."

"I've already returned, have I no?" Peter said sweetly.

Picking up her plate and turning to walk back to the living room, she brushed lightly against him as she rounded the island. "Yes, you have, Detective Inspector.  Now what am I to surmise based on that bit of evidence?" she purred.

"That ye've won me over just being yerself," he replied playfully.  "Dinner and wine is just a bonus."

She sat down on the couch, smirking, as she was sure he was laying it on a bit thick for someone like her, but she was willing to play along.  "Peter, come over here and enjoy your bonus, will you?” she said as she placed her plate on the coffee table.

He grinned and took a seat beside her on the couch. She watched him as he settled in beside her. His hair was tousled and her hands ached to reach out and brush it back off his forehead, so she picked up her fork and started to eat instead. "Alright, then," she began after a few moments of awkward silence, "I've told you some of my exploits in the world of High Finance today.  Anything exciting for you?"

"Exciting? No. A bit interesting? Aye," he replied, pausing to take a sip of wine. He decided against sharing details of the stalled murder investigation and instead focused on the banalities of police work.

Donna turned to watch him as he answered and was mesmerized by his throat as he swallowed. He caught her looking and grinned before answering. "Let’s see- It wasn't a very good day for DS Cave. He got got his pocket picked in bookin' by a working girl he'd taken in for solicitation. He’d gone to ask her a few questions and when she proved uncooperative, he retaliated by taking her into custody."

Donna was still contemplating him as he ate and she hoped he couldn’t see that it was really beginning to affect her. She swallowed hard and fought to keep her response casual. "So, turnabout, huh? How on earth does a DS get pick-pocketed in the station?  I mean, she's already in jail and she has the nerve to do that?" She was still captivated by how he ate and when Peter realized what she was staring at, he slowly sucked on his fork and measured her response. When she shifted unconsciously, he grinned and flipped the fork over, making a show of licking the last trace of sauce from the tines.

Donna gave a snort of laughter before playfully batting at his arm and Peter snickered before returning to the conversation. "I think she was just havin' him on. She nicked his wallet and gave it right back, just to prove she could. I was actually impressed," he admitted.

"Oh, I like her!" Donna said in deeply impressed tones. "That's just...,” she hesitated, looking for the right word. Peter watched her right hand flutter towards the hand holding her wine glass, and he tilted his head to the side to get a better look. Donna was stunned by the intensity of his gaze and when she saw his expression, open mouthed, tongue pressed up behind his top teeth, her hand instantly changed course, heading for her own mouth. "...perfect," she breathed, biting her thumb. She watched his tongue traverse the confines of his mouth as he studied her openly. She could almost see his thoughts written across his face as he considered asking her a question, but he decided against it then. He smiled slowly, lazily, before returning to their previous conversation.

"And the language on her? She gave him what for. The lads really took the mickey out of him over it after. I stayed out of it, though. Thankfully, I'm no in the boys' club; I've kept myself apart, and I'm sort of glad for that." he added with a shrug. “Most of the workin' girls I've encountered are no any trouble a'tall. It's only an accident of law that I'm lockin' em up and they're bein' locked up.” he finished, wiping a bit of sauce from his chin with the heel of his hand. When Donna’s eyes widened slightly, he silently scolded himself for not using his napkin.

“So,” she replied, arching an eyebrow at him, “is that what it takes to impress you, then?  Quick hands and a clever tongue does it for you, hmmm?”  It took Donna a moment to realize what she had said, and when she processed the implications, she blushed. She blushed even more when she saw him wipe sauce from his chin; it took everything she had in her not to pin him to the couch and lick it clean.

Taken aback momentarily, Peter stammered,  “I...I donae know how to answer that; if I pay ye a flirtatious complement, ye willnae accept  it.” He smiled at her sadly and continued. “If I said no, I'd be lying. So I’m damned if I do and equally damned if I donae.” He watched her intently, admiring her beauty as he did so. “Mostly, it's ye that 'does it for me', as ye say.”

“Oh,” Donna said, stunned. She took a sip of wine to cover her embarrassment, both hands holding her glass and awkwardly balanced her plate on her knees. “Thank you," she answered in a quiet voice, unable to meet his gaze.

 _Donna Noble at a loss for words?_ he thought, amazed. He smiled at his victory and took a gulp of his wine before setting his glass and empty plate on the coffee table.

She hazarded a glance back at him and watched him as he took a drink and wondered how the hell he managed to make the simple task of eating and drinking look like the prelude to a seduction. He reached over and retrieved her plate from her lap, putting it down next to his and, feeling bold, moved a little closer to her on the sofa.

She responded by feeling blindly on the couch next to her and handing him the remote, saying breathlessly, “So, you're the guest, your choice...” because what she would choose at that moment definitely did not involve a quiet evening of passive watching. She curled her legs up onto the couch, but he took her ankle in hand and straightened her leg over his lap. With the other hand he accepted the remote with a touch of regret.

“Well, as long as it's not a crime drama...” he teased as he flipped the telly on and handed the remote back to her, “....I'll be happy.” He started to rub her sore foot, pointedly ignoring the program on in the background.

Donna inhaled sharply as he grasped her ankle and began to knead the pads of her feet. “Oh, no Peter, no, you don't have to do that...” she said, stifling a moan as his fingers worked down into the arch of her aching foot. He bit his lip at the sound she made as he began to massage her foot with his fingers. When he continued as if she had never spoken, she moaned again and sucked her bottom lip and tried not to squirm in his lap, to no avail. “Oh,” she admitted unthinkingly, “that's really nice...”

She let her head drift back against the arm of the sofa, almost reclining and lost in the pleasure of his touch. “I know what you’re thinkin',” she murmured almost inaudibly, “I should pick more practical footwear, but it's not like we'd need to run in a situation like that.”

Peter hesitated for a moment, puzzled. "Run, Donna?” he asked quietly. “Us?"

Drowning in sensation, she responded with a tiny sigh, "Yeah, I know, time and time again, eh?"  

Continuing to work her feet, he filed the comment away for future contemplation. Now was not the time to pursue that issue, he decided, not with her all but writhing in his lap. He gently manipulated her foot, flexing her Achilles tendon carefully, bending her foot to stretch it out slowly and again, she moaned in response.

Donna suddenly realized what she must sound and look like to him and she struggled to sit up a bit, propping herself up on her elbows until he started to bend her other foot.  She was even more embarrassed by the sounds coming out her now, but she was starting not to care. “Peter Carlisle,” she forced out between gritted teeth, “I give you a week to stop doing that...”

He paused for a moment to bring her other leg across his lap, then resumed his chosen task. He considered their situation for just a moment, and with a guilty internal shrug, he decided to take advantage of her relaxed state. “So,” he started, with feigned casualness, “tell me more about yer family. Heard from them lately?”

Donna had started to pant slightly and she pushed her head and shoulders down into the couch without realizing that it forced her hips up into the air slightly with her bum against his thigh. “No, not lately,” she admitted with a sigh and Peter was relieved. “Nothin' excitin' and not much more to tell you don’t already know,” she forced out between stifled whimpers "I'm an only, no siblings.  Just me, my mum and my granddad left.  My dad died a little over five years ago from cancer, and after my divorce and up until about nine months ago,’ she paused, giving out an involuntary shudder of pleasure, “I lived at home.”

Even as relaxed as she was, the silence that grew then was uncomfortable and she remembered to ask, “And you?”  

He released her foot and reached for his wine, taking another large gulp before he replaced the glass and took up Donna's other foot. “Well, ye know my father's passed on, ten years ago now, and my mother's still living in Glasgow. She was ... angry ... with me when I left home, and, of course, even angrier with me now for movin’ even further away: she took the whole situation very personally. Y'know how mothers can be,” he said, trying to play it down.

She shifted her foot gently in his lap and grazed him unknowingly.  “Yeah, tell me about it," she commiserated. “I'm only 15 minutes away and the way mine carries on, you'd think I'd moved to Australia..."  She arched her foot in his grasp, stretching as his attentions relaxed her far more than she had intended to be.  Between the massage and the wine, she was floating blissfully and feeling no pain. “So why did you move? Did you not get on with your mum?”  

“No, that’s no it, no really. I left Glasgow for Kendal because the North Lakes constabulary was offering a better wage. And I left Kendal because...,” he looked down, studying her foot intently as he continued, ”...well, I already told ye that bit.” After a moment’s silence, he nudged her back towards his goal. “So, what can ye tell me about your grandda?”

“Oh, Peter, you'll just love him and I know he'll love you!” she blurted out before she could stop herself.   _Oh, it's a night for embarrassing myself_ , Donna though, _assuming he’ll want to meet my family_. She tried for a quick recovery then, adding, “I mean, if you ever get ‘round to meetin’ him, that is.  He's just a dear,  I can tell him anythin’.  If it weren't for him, I'd never go home...”

He hazarded his next question, but began to rub her foot more intently as he did. “So you donae get on with your mother then?” he asked gently, focusing on her toes rather than her face. He smiled despite himself as he noticed that the dark blue of her polish matched her jumper. Glancing around the room, he surmised blue must have been her favorite color, based on her surroundings. There was a fair amount of purple and green strewn about as accents, but blue in various shades easily predominated in the decor.

“No,” came Donna’s toneless response, drawing his attention back to her face. “We don't get on, not at all.  I mean, I love her, but there's no pleasin’ her- ever. She's jumpy around me and always tellin’ me what to do and what to think. She’s never happy with anythin’ I do and she can be downright mean when she wants to be. It's only been worse since my accident.” She sadly sighed and continued. “I dunno- maybe I deserve it.  I mean, I've never really done anythin’ of value with my life.  If I hadn't won that lottery- and that was dumb luck, as I didn’t even buy the ticket myself- I'd still be tempin’ because I had to, not because I want to.” She shrugged uncomfortably, realizing for the first time the picture they must have made: the Masters in Forensic Psychology Practice had her flat on her back on a couch, laying out her mother issues for his examination.

“That’s no true,” he stated reflexively, “and no one deserves that level of vitriol from their own mother.” She looked at him questioningly and he realized he’d said more than he had intended. “Donna,” Peter began, unsure of what to expect from her response, “Ye recall I offered to interview yer family, to attempt to ascertain if they might, as ye suspect, have any information that could be of use in determinin' the precise nature of yer accident and disappearance?” She watched him intently as his attention seemed to return to her toes, but she knew better. She had already started to pick up on his verbal cues- it seemed to her that not always, but frequently, the more words he used to convey an idea, the stronger the emotion lurking behind them.

“Yes,” she admitted, watching him, her tone and face betraying nothing.

“I believe ye’re correct in your assessment, especially where Wilf is concerned. Yer mother, on the other hand,...,” he paused ruefully, scratching at the back of his neck for a moment. “Yer mother was no inclined to submit to interrogation, especially interrogation by me, as she made abundantly clear,” he admitted quietly.

“Oh, no, Peter,” Donna groaned, rubbing her eyes with her hands before fisting them in her hair. “Please tell me you didn’t...,” she whimpered, then stopped abruptly when his word choice hit her. She sat up to look him straight in the eye and then flopped back to the couch, laughing aloud. “My mother ‘was not inclined to submit to interrogation’? What a flippin’ surprise! My mother has never been inclined to submit to anythin’ her whole bloody life!” When her laughter subsided, she looked at him steadily and sat up again to take his hand. “I would have gone with you if you’d asked,” she said quietly.

“I know ye would have,” he responded, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. “I just thought that, maybe, they might tell a policeman more, especially without ye there. Ye can see how well that turned out,” he said, chagrinned. “But ye’re right- they’re obviously concealin' somethin’.” He considered for a moment before continuing, “Although, in at least yer grandda’s case, I get the feelin’ he thinks it’s in your best interests that ye no know what happened to ye, for some reason. And ye’re right about this Dr. Smith- he was definitely involved somehow, and between yer mum and Wilf, there's a disagreement as to the nature of his involvement. Yer mum nearly took my head off as soon as she opened the door and yer grandda mistook me for him at first.”

Peter exhaled deeply before continuing. “And as for yer mum, ye cannae please everyone.  Y'know...my father never forgave me for becomin' a policeman.  Back when I was a PC, he told me I'd never amount to anythin'.” He stared off in the distance until Donna reached up and gently laid a finger on his jaw, guiding his face back to her.

“What?  Why?” she asked and her heart skipped a beat when she saw him look above her head in an attempt to hide his pain.  “Bein' a policeman- that's a respectable profession.”

“When my wife left me, he said it was because I couldnae provide for her,” he admitted before looking back at her. He forced a smile, and sniffed. “We service industry workers donae earn major dosh, ‘specially not to start.”

Donna stoked his cheek fondly, wanting to comfort him. “Oh, Peter... no.  That's not fair!  That attitude....well, that's just bonkers!”, she finished vehemently, her voice rising with indignation on his behalf.

“Weelll,” he drawled, “Take the comment in context. I had been studyin’ psychology. I was goin' to be a doctor, but I liked the idea of solvin’ puzzles and catchin’ the baddies rather than filin' reports on them all day.” He shook off his dark mood and returned his attention to the woman beside him.

"You? A doctor?" she breathed and her right hand began that inevitable, inexorable dance toward her left before he reached out to capture both of her hands in his own.

"Why do ye do that?" he asked, his eyes searching her face. “What’re ye lookin’ for, Donna?”

"What?" she asked, eyelids fluttering, unaware and uncomprehending. “I’m not lookin’ for anythin’.” She couldn’t catch her breath, he was so close to her now and she thought how handy it would be at that moment not to have to breathe. Peter studied her one long heartbeat longer and nodded before kissing her hand, her fingertips and then her left ring finger. Her hands tingled where his lips brushed her skin and she blinked hard again for a moment before grinning at him unabashedly.

"So, a doctor, then... You'd have made a good one, but if your heart's not in it..., “ she said, grinning even wider, but not sure why. “Besides, there's more important things than money!  I should know- I've got plenty now, and well, it’s never managed to made me happy.”

“I hope there are other things in yer life that do,” he said, voice low and quiet. Before she could reply, he joked, “The irony is, I still have to file papers...” He watched her roll her eyes at him and laughed out loud.

She reached up again to lay the palm of her hand on his cheek. “I like it when you laugh, Peter. I don't think you do it enough. Even when you're bein' a bit of a prawn and laughin' at yourself,” Donna admitted. 

His smile grew pensive. “I cannae help it. It's better to laugh. But sometimes it’s difficult to find the humor in life when ye’re in the midst of sufferin’ the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

She smiled back sadly, then brightened. “Hamlet?” she asked, and those tiny lines that appeared beside his eyes were her reward. She glanced down, then back at him before quietly adding, “I know exactly what you mean.” She shifted her legs off his lap and turned her body to him on the couch, leaning over and kissing him gently.  He leaned into her and the taste of the wine on her lips combined with the warmth of it coursing through his own system pooled in his groin. 

When they finally parted, he spoke first. “Are we no a pair?”

Donna was still relaxed from the combination of his hands on her skin and the wine she had drank and she started to feel a recently-familiar heat build low in her belly. “Yeah, that's us- a matched set,” she said as he brushed her hair back from her face. She turned slightly so that her body was angled more towards his, putting her hands on his chest and fisting them into his shirt to urge him closer.  Peter leaned forward and toppled them both to the cushions, partially pinning Donna beneath him. 

She squealed with delight and smiled as he kissed her neck. “Why, Detective Inspector, do you feel the need to restrain me?  Am I a danger to the public?” she teased, giggling as he found a sensitive spot beneath her left ear.

“No the public,” he breathed, “just me.” He leaned his hip into her and took one of her wrists in hand, pinning it gently above her head as he moved to cover her mouth with his. 

A jolt of desire, hot and desperate, broke over her as she felt his growing arousal against her thigh and she was suddenly very glad that she had changed clothes.  Donna pulled him closer and sucked his earlobe, then whispered, "Well, maybe you'll have to restrain me for your own safety, then...” She arched up into him, wanting more contact and moaned into his mouth.

Peter smiled against her lips and repositioned himself so that he was situated between her thighs, then brought her free wrist up to the first, holding them both--crossed--under one hand, gently. She bit her lip in anticipation of what he might do and had to squirm to relieve a bit of the stress she felt between her legs.  She was growing more and more aroused by the minute and she wondered if he knew. Could he feel the heat from her hot, wet sex as he lay prone against her?

As Donna strained against him, Peter used his free hand to ruck up her shirt, stroking her skin as he moved his lips to her neck. He could feel her trembling under his touch, and she thrust her hips up to meet his, arching her head back in pleasure as his hands found her breasts under her tank top.  

She squirmed under his grip, and he chanced pressing down a bit; he didn’t want to hurt her wrists, or make her feel genuinely trapped, but he found that he liked this game. He ground against her again, then pulled her shirt up more, tugging the cup of her bra down so he could wrap his lips around her left nipple.

She wanted to touch him so much then, but his grip on her wrists was firm.  “Peter, oh love, please...I want to touch you....,” she cried breathlessly, and as much as she wanted to touch him, her body was screaming for his touch in return.  She could feel how drenched her knickers were becomming with her want of him.  “Policeman,” she breathed, pleading.

When he took her nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue gently against it, she knew she was ready for him and she wanted him- now.  She bit her lip and decided that two could play his little game.  “Detective Inspector, what are you chargin' me with?” she purred. “Have I done somethin' bad?”

Peter exhaled a shaky breath against her flesh at the sound of her words.  " Oh, aye," he ground out, his accent thickening with his arousal,  "ye've definitely been bad.  Enticin' an officer of the law is a serious crime."  He emphasized his point by rocking his hips into hers. "Very serious.”

She exhaled a shaky breath then strained against his hands, rising up a bit so that her lips brushed against his ear. “Oh, Detective, I had no idea!” she whispered in mock-horror as her tongue traced the outline of his jaw.  “I'm willin' to confess and make any restitution needed to make this right again.”

“Are ye tryin' to bribe me, Miss Noble?” he breathed against her skin as he trailed his lips across the inner swell of her breasts. He took her right nipple into his mouth as his free hand massaged her left breast.

‘Oh, no, sir!” Donna exclaimed.  “I know I've been bad, but I don't want any trouble with the law.”  She was all but panting then and couldn't stand the pressure of his twitching erection against her.  She ground up into him, and despite the layers of cloth separating them, he hissed at her touch, finally breaking.

“Well, I suppose we can work somthin' out... ,” he conceded as he let go of her wrists and trailed his hands down her body hungrily before he began tugging at her trousers. She raised her hips to encourage him to remove them entirely, along with her knickers.   Peter untied the drawstring of her trousers and pulled them down slowly, running his fingertips across her hips, and the smooth skin of her thighs.  Donna threw her head back with a whimper, twisting and turning at his touch, and when she reached up and grabbed his tie to pull him toward her mouth, Peter’s stomach did a cartwheel.

“Ohhh, Detective, what exactly can you deduce from this reaction, hmm?” she moaned, greedily sucking his bottom lip and arching her hips up to meet his.

“Well,” he replied huskily, kissing her lips and jaw and neck as he traced his fingers down her torso, across her hips and between her legs. He lightly caressed the crease where her thigh joined her body: he was teasing her a little, he knew. “I think...,’ he murmured as his fingers crept slowly closer, ‘Ye'd like it....very much....if I touched ye...right...,’ he hesitated, stroking between her folds to make sure she was ready for what he wanted to do next and was pleased to find that she was. “...here,” he finished as he slid two fingers into her.

He was rewarded for his efforts by Donna's sharp intake of breath, ending in an indecent moan of pleasure.  “Oh, Peter, and that was just your hand,” she whimpered, all but weeping. “Oh, please, don't stop.  Please, kiss me,” she begged him, drowning in his eyes.

He grinned wolfishly before gloating over her response. “Looks like my powers of deduction have served me well,” he said before he covered her mouth with his own and worked his fingers in and out of her slowly, his thumb stroking clumsy circles against her clit. She was ready to scream then, with every nerve in her body firing at once, and his hands...she bit back a moan again...if he kept doing that, she was going to be done before they really got started.  She had to slow this down and right now.

She reached up and grabbed Peter by the tie again, pulling him back for another kiss. While he braced himself on both hands above her body, she carefully loosened it.  He expected her to just slip the knot free, but she broke the kiss to gently pull it up and over his head, smiling evilly the whole time. Mischief danced in her eyes when he paused, trying to deduce what she had in mind. “”What are ye up to? Ye look like the cat that got the cream,” he asked with a smile, and when she grinned in response, he leaned down to steal another kiss. 

“Oh, just a bit of payback, In-spec-tor,” Donna sing-songed at him in his ear, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and running her tongue along his earlobe. “You do believe in payin’ your debts, don't you?”

At the feel of her tongue against his skin, his voice dropped an octave and he muttered, “Oh, aye. What do I owe ye, Miss Noble?”  He struggled to untangle himself from his shirt and she helped, flinging it over her head and off the couch, his undershirt following immediately after. Peter’s erection was straining against his trousers at this point and he shifted to get more comfortable, pressing his hips into hers. “What must I do,” he asked, grinding against her, “to settle things between us, hmm?”

Donna reached up slowly as if to embrace Peter before yanking him down on top of her, taking advantage of his surprise to roll him over and straddle him.  “You'll hold still if you know what's good for you,” she warned as she slowly pressed herself to him. He gave a strained cry of mingled pleasure and frustration, reaching for her hips before stopping himself, trying to obey.

“Donna!” he sighed, raising his hands in surrender and closing his eyes for a moment, and that was all she needed. She leaned over him, pushing his hands down to the pillow above his head before quickly slipping his tie around his wrists and tightening the knot.  She took a second to gauge his stunned reaction before tying the free ends to the tubular metal frame of her couch.

“Now then,” she drawled as she straddled his lap, taking a moment to admire her handiwork, “let's discuss the terms of that debt.” She trailed her fingertips down his prone chest and brushed against his belly, just shy of the waistband of his trousers. Peter's cock jumped at this turn of events as a new wave of heat burst in his groin: he was nearly at a loss for words, struggling weakly at the bindings.

“Aye, Miss Noble,” he breathed, his accent thick as molasses, “ Yer here to collect then? I reckon I'm ready to pay.” He bucked up hard against her and she gave his leg a gentle slap, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. When he stilled beneath her, she continued.

“I think...,” she said, mimicking his earlier cadence as she started to unbuckle his belt. “...you ...” she continued, moving down his body and starting to slowly unzip his trousers. “...And I...can come...” she dipped her fingers into his trousers, brushing against his bare hips, and tugged down both his trousers and his pants at a go, finally freeing his erection. “...to some sort of an arrangement.”

Peter hissed as the the cool air of the room hit his overheated skin and his hips automatically shifted beneath her. “Anythin' ye'd like of me, Miss Noble,” he choked out, voice trembling and faintly embarrassed. His response was positively undignified; after all, she’d hardly touched him. He pulled against the tie again and cursed weakly under his breath.

Donna smiled and licked her lips. “Oh, I like all of you, sir, quite a bit...” she admitted. She inched down his body, brushing his hips with her hair, and hovered just above his cock. “Especially this bit...” She slowly licked the tip, pulling it into her mouth and tilting her head to watch his reaction.

His eyes squeezed shut and when his lungs nearly burst, he gasped for air, astonished to find that he’d been holding his breath. “Donna....ye donae...that... what...oh, bloody...ffffff...ffuuu...Fuck!” he cried as he squirmed beneath her.

She decided that she liked to make him lose his composure enough to curse and set about doing it again. “What was that, sir?” she asked innocently as she trailed a fingertip down his hip and then back up his inner thigh.  “Did you say somethin'?”  She bent down again and licked his shaft, making sure to lift up enough so that her breasts brushed up against his balls. He pulled again at the tie binding his hands and knew he’d never again be able to wear it without thinking of her.

Peter was looking down his body at her now, his mouth open, panting raggedly and fighting to keep his eyes in focus. “Donna, please,” he whimpered, straining against his bonds. He wasn’t quite sure which type of release he was begging for at that moment, but she wasn’t providing either. Instead, Donna responded by taking him into her mouth again and swirling her tongue against the underside of his cock, smiling when she felt the muscles in his thighs tighten. 

She enjoyed watching him struggle and she was curious to see how far she could push him before she eventually took pity and released him. “Back to our discussion, then,” she announced. “What terms do you offer?  It's important that you watch...,” she paused to straddle his hips again, “your accounts most carefully.” Peter bit his lip and his eyes became dark and determined. His breathing grew deeper, steadier, in through his nose and out through his mouth. She reached up to fondle her breast, shifting so that he was nestled right at her entrance. “Are you watchin'?” she teased as his eyes darted first to her face, then down to her breasts, her navel, and finally, her curls.

“Aye,” he murmured thickly, clenching and unclenching his jaw. She rolled her hips against his and let the tip of his cock graze the wet lips of her sex.  Reaching up to cup her other breast, she flicked both nipples and slowly pulled herself over him.  She was so ready for Peter and so wet, but she wanted to make him wait for it, just a little bit, wondering what he might do.

He swallowed hard and as he shifted beneath her, Donna realized Peter was fighting for control, of both himself and the situation. For a fraction of a second, she questioned the wisdom of her actions and wondered how this might end until she looked down into his eyes. He was trembling, struggling for self-restraint: something was there, nearly obscured by lust and hunger, but she could see it all the same. “Oh, Peter,” she whispered, all pretense of a game lost in her arousal, “I want you so much.  You're all I ever wanted, and so much more than I ever dared to hope for.”  She lifted her hips a tiny bit and slowly slid down onto his shaft.

He cried out and he knew that if his hands weren’t tied, he’d grab her by the hips and make her scream his name. “Donna, I--I--I need...” He stammered, his breath shaky and labored, his body flushed and trembling beneath hers, his cock achingly hard. “....ye...Oh... Ye feel amazin'....I wan’ t’...” he gasped, holding tightly to his bindings. She was sliding onto him slowly and he wondered how he didn’t go off like a schoolboy. 

Donna rolled her head forward, letting her hair spill over her shoulder as she pulled up and almost off him, hovering for a moment before slowly sliding back down.  She pulled up one more time and when she felt him shudder beneath her, she could stand it no longer. She leaned up and over him to release his hands and immediately, Peter grabbed her hips. He squeezed firmly and pulled her back down on him hard. She arched up in her passion, her hair swinging wildly behind her in a brilliant ginger cascade. “Oh, again, do that again,” she moaned.

When he was sure of his hold, he bucked up into her, groaning her name. He pulled her down on him again and he watched her face as she bit her lip and braced a hand against his chest in an effort to remain upright. “Donna, ye are so beau'iful.  I couldnae stay away from ye if I tried.” He pulled her to him again, this time simultaneously thrusting up into her.

She cried out and tried to stay in place, letting him pound into her at just the right angle, but she honestly didn’t know how much longer she could control herself. “Oh, Peter,” she gasped as he slid home once more, “Tell me what you want.”

He pulled her hips to his, and she finally lost her balance and leaned over him. It was his turn to take advantage of the element of surprise and without thinking, he flipped them over so that now Donna was on her back. 

“Oh, yes, oh yes, oh yes...” It was all she could think, all she could say as he regained the upper hand in their lovemaking.  “Please,” Donna begged, “I want to be whatever you want... you're all I’ll ever want...”

He was on top of her then, and he gathered each of her legs in his arms, resting the back of her knee against the bend of his elbow. He leaned forward and started pounding into her. “Ye, Donna, I want...I want...ye...,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust.

She’d been waiting for him to catch his breath and finish his statement and when his meaning finally filtered down through the haze of emotion, when she finally realized what he was saying, Donna closed her eyes and a tear slipped down her cheek. She lost all sense of time and place and awareness and her world flared white-hot behind her eyes.  Reaching up, she clutched his hand on her leg, lifting her hips just a fraction to let him even closer to her. 

Peter’s hands trembled and he felt as though he were standing somewhere outside of himself, watching what happened next. His self-restraint shattered and he caressed Donna’s face once before withdrawing from her and pulling her up to her knees against him. “Turn around,” he growled.

Without thinking, Donna shifted, then looked around to see if her new position was what he wanted. Peter squeezed her hip, nuzzling up against her ear. “Might wan' t’ hold on there,” he gestured to the back of the couch frame, pressing his cock against her bum. She did as he suggested, and a hot thrill ran through her and settled in her core. Peter gripped her bum for a moment, before taking himself in hand and sliding into her again. After a moment’s readjustment, he started pumping into her, setting a punishing rhythm.

One hand on her hip, he bent over her body to kiss her back, his other hand clutching at her breast, massaging it and fondling her hard nipple. She moaned and ground back into him, reaching behind her with one hand to grab his bum and feel the muscles tense as he pounded into her.   When she realized her clit was exposed, she shifted her weight and leaned forward, bracing herself more fully on the back of the couch as she rubbed small, hard circles on her nub. 

Lips and teeth and tongue explored Donna's exposed back before Peter straightened up again, reaching his hand around to cover hers. “Show me how ye wan' me t' touch ye,” he managed to say, “I wan' t' make ye cum.”

She was so close again and when he reached his hand around her, asking her to teach him how to touch her, she almost cried.  She couldn’t speak, so she guided his hand with her own. As his movements gained in confidence, Donna arched her back and threw an arm back to embrace him and when she climaxed a moment later, it was hard and fast and powerful and she was afraid she’d collapse beneath him. The fingers of one hand were still rubbing her clit, working her through her orgasm and Peter’s other arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her to him. Her muscles were squeezing him intensely and he nipped at her neck, cursing and sighing. He felt his own orgasm approaching then and he wondered if Donna’s throbbing, clutching walls felt as sensitive as his cock did.

She was falling and falling and falling, and every movement he made inside her echoed throughout her entire body.  She felt as if she was floating or flying or just that she was hovering, but he was right there with her, wherever she was, and it was brilliant.  It was bloody, bloody brilliant and she leaned back to kiss the man behind her, the man that she thought she might love. When her lips touched his neck, it sent a chill through his whole body. He cried out her name and bucked into her wildly as he came and came hard.  Donna smiled and pulled him even closer than before, one arm over her shoulder, wrapped around his neck, the other over the arm clutching her waist. “Oh, Policeman,” she sighed, “Don't ever leave me.”

When his orgasm subsided, he slumped against her, circling his arms around her and placing kisses along her shoulder. “There’s nothin’ on Earth that could drag me away,” he whispered. He reluctantly withdrew from her and laid down on the couch, urging her to join him so he could hold her. She smiled, both at his words and his actions, and reaching for a blanket tossed over the back of the couch, she covered them and snuggled down next to him.  

“Donna?”  He nudged her neck with his nose then placed a soft kiss there, making her twitch her shoulders and giggle.  She turned her face up to him.

“Hmmmm?”

“Next time ye think ye'd like to try some light bondage, warn me; I willnae leave my handcuffs at work,” he said with a grin. 

“Yeah?” she challenged, but without heat. “Next time you want to try somethin’ strenuous, I’ve got a perfectly good bed we can utilize,” she tossed back at him. Thinking about what she said, she suddenly became bashful. “You do know, this is all your fault, right?” Peter raised his eyebrows quizzically, wondering what exactly she was blaming him for. When his hand crept across her hip, he smirked slightly as she shuddered involuntarily. “I'm serious,” she cried indignantly, batting away his hand gently. “I never, ever thought to, ... I mean I’d never tried...that is, until I met you, I just...” she trailed off, embarrassed.

Now that the ardor had left him, Peter was feeling a bit sheepish himself. “Donna, are ye okay? I dinnae mean to be so... “

Her eyes widened and she realized he was worried by her reaction and she hastened to clarify. “Oh, no, no, no!  That was...amazin’!” she said quickly, turning in his arms to rest her hands against his chest.  “I mean, really, really amazin’, and brilliant and...oh, I just don't want you to think I've ever done that with anyone else before.... I don't mean to say that I never.... I just never did like that.... “, she babbled as she looked up into his lovely face and those gorgeous, deep brown eyes. “This isn't comin' out very well,” she admitted, and she released a sigh that lifted her bangs back out of her eyes. “And I have a feelin’ it isn't goin’ to get any better, so I'd better just blurt it out, then.” 

‘Peter, I love every single thing we've done together, from gettin' chips, to things more....intimate...and now, I'm ruined for life,” Donna admitted in a rush. “It’s all your fault. I don't want to ever do those things again....without you,” she finished quietly.

Peter smiled a bit dreamily, still glowing from their activities. “It's no my business to judge what ye have or havenae done before, Donna,” he whispered. “Yer here; now. With me. That's all that matters. And I'm glad ye enjoyed it...I did too.” He placed a tiny kiss on her forehead and tucked her head below his chin, stroking her hair. 

“Donna?” he asked quietly after a moment.

“Yes?” she replied as she nestled happily in his embrace.

“I love ye,” Peter stated simply. “I think I’m fallin’ in love with ye.”

Stunned into silence for a split second, Donna pulled back to look into his eyes and she reached out a tentative finger to trace his lips. “Oh, Peter,” she breathed.  “I love you, too. I do, I really, really do.” She kissed him gently. “Whatever I did to deserve you, I'll never know.”

“Must’ve been pretty bad t’ end up with a git like me, but as it's escaped the notice of the local constabulary thus far, I'm inclined to let it lie,” he teased and she slapped his hand in retaliation. He took her hand in his and smirked, then grew serious. “I want to be a part of yer life, t’ meet yer friends and family- properly, this time. That first night at the George; ye were with yer friend, right? Nerys?” Donna nodded and he continued. “And ye should've been with her tonight, right?” he asked gently. When Donna looked down and away, he continued. “How 'bout we meet up with her first, on Wednesday? I owe her an apology, anyway, for takin’ ye away.”

“If that’s what you want,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes. “I’ll see if she can make it.”

“Donna, should I go? I’d need to be up early in the mornin’ to go back to my place for a change of clothes- I have to go in tomorrow and meet up with Ian. We’re close on this one, but we’ve run up against a wall and I promised to meet him to go over the case, to see if we cannae shake somethin’ loose,” he admitted, pushing his hair back off his forehead and making it stand wildly on end.

Donna grinned and reached up to finger-style his hair back into a semblance of his normal appearance. “That’s OK,” she said. “I was thinkin’ of pullin' a volunteer stretch at the Women’s Shelter in the mornin’. It’s my weekend there this month, so I’ll have to be up early as well. You can stay the night, if you want,” she offered hopefully.

“Oh, I want, Miss Noble. I want,” he whispered, holding her tight. “I want t' wake up with ye in my arms every mornin’ for the rest of our lives.”

Donna smiled against his skin, his words drifting down and following her into unconsciousness. “I love you, Policeman,” she murmured.  “And don't you forget it.  I promise I won't.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor visits an old friend, looking for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.

**Somewhere/Somewhen in the Time Vortex**

He sat, hunched over in his sling chair beneath the TARDIS console, morosely kicking his heels together. It had been hours for him since he'd brushed up against her mind and he'd been mulling over what he'd found there ever since. Donna's memories, her remembrances of all they'd seen and done together, along with all her feelings and reactions, everything he'd been forced to bury; at first glance, all of it appeared to still be there, safely hidden away in the recesses of her mind. But upon closer inspection, he found that some of the memories were no longer completely intact, their hard, bright edges dark and corroded. It wasn't the gentle erosion of daily existence rubbing against them, wearing them down and washing them away: that was impossible, given the circumstances. Instead, it was if someone were busily hammering at them, over and over, tiny repetitive blows that left specific recollections dull and pitted. When he stepped back and looked at the whole of her mind, he was unsettled. Whatever the cause, her memories were under attack and the worst of the destruction was focused on specific impressions: images locked away, supposedly forever, undergoing subtle alterations that threatened to obliterate all traces of him from her mind.

Yet more troubling were her time lines. When he had first left her back in Chiswick, her possible futures were all stable, safe and terribly banal. Yet when he had examined them again after their brief encounter on the train, he was shocked to find such a bright, pulsing snarl of possibilities. Her futures were a vibrant, varicolored tangle full of shifting possibilities, but each always held a dark core of sorrow and loss. He could read her longing and her despair in each potentiality and knew that he was at the heart of it, that deep-down, she was missing him. He lingered as long as he could bear, as penance for the pain he’d caused her and in remembrance of the times they’d shared. Nostalgia was a failing of the old, and right at that moment, he was feeling positively ancient.

In a moment of weakness, he reached out one last time, wanting reassurance that somehow, Donna Noble would be all right in the end, but when he found her futures again, his hearts skidded and stuttered in his chest. When he examined those fine strands emanating from her now, her futures were neatly divided with fully half of them shining and bright, all but completely free of the taint of despair and regret, a shimmering tapestry shot through with contentment and happiness and love. They were in sharp contrast to the other half and he was dismayed to find those fraying filaments uniformly dark, muddy and distressingly short. Something momentous had occurred in the few short hours since he'd brushed up against her, and whatever had happened would either enable Donna Noble to rebuild herself or destroy her completely. He shot upright, nearly banging his head against the supports above before whirling back and taking the steps two at a time to fling himself at the controls. He needed more information before he could decide upon the proper course of action and he smiled. There was only one man in all of creation he could ask and he knew exactly where to find him.

**********

**7:45 PM Saturday, 19 May 2012**

Wilfred Mott trudged up the hill behind the home he shared with his daughter, thermos of hot tea in one hand and the key to his garden shed in the other. It was his ritual, his nightly pilgrimage, a memento mori for what had been lost and he considered it to be both his honor and his responsibility. Every evening, as promised, he would look out on the stars and do what his granddaughter could never do- remember. He neared the top of the hill and glancing up, he hesitated. His telescope and chair were already out of the shed and set up for him, pointing at the heavens above. Had Donna come to spend the night star-gazing with him as she had before? He looked wildly about, half-expecting to find her sprawled in the grass until he was startled into stillness by a soft drawl from the dark.

"Hallo, Wiff."

He squinted into the deep shadow beside the shed and found a gangly young man dressed like his own grandfather, folded awkwardly into a beach chair, a small camp table set with two mugs of tea and a packet of biscuits beside him. He was sure he’d never set eyes on this man before and was just about to demand an explanation when he stopped short- the intruder had the oldest eyes he’d ever seen peering forth from that youthful face and in the gloom beyond, Wilf could just make out the lines of a box of darkest blue. He took one wavering step towards his chair and reached out a hand to steady himself.

“I never thought I'd see you again, sir, not after her wedding day,” Wilf breathed.

‘But you still kept your promise,” the Doctor replied.

Wilf shrugged and took a step closer. “The least I could do, under the circumstances, Doctor,” he said. He wanted to look at his friend properly, but was hesitant to stare, unsure of the etiquette. _What’s the correct response when a 906...no, 908...no, who knows how long it’s been for him?... What’s the correct response when your alien friend’s entire appearance changes?_ Wilf thought, bemused. In the end, he gave up and gazed at the Doctor with undisguised wonder. “It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, sir- I am- but why are you here, then? It’s got somethin’ to do with Donna, right? Have you come to...” he asked in a rush.

“Wilf, tell me about Donna,” the Doctor interrupted. “I saw her, but I don’t understand what I saw- around and inside her,” he admitted quietly. He sat perfectly still, legs crossed and arms folded over his chest, barely moving even when he spoke and Wilf was unsettled by his eerie calm. He seemed so detached, so different from the Doctor he knew, and Wilf wasn’t entirely sure he trusted this new man that must have sauntered away in his friend’s place.

“You saw her?” Wilf said as he dragged his chair close and sat down. “But it must be safe for you to be around her now that she won’t remember you! Can’t you get close enough to fix her? She’s not been the same since you left her here. She’s still goin’ through the motions, makin’ do, but she’s not happy,”

The Doctor unfolded himself and leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped before him. “When was the last time you saw her, Wilf?” he asked. “Please, I need to know.” There was the barest hint of anxiety in his voice and somehow, that reassured Wilf as nothing else could have.

“It’s been, oh, ‘bout a month now, I think,” he said with a sigh. “After the divorce- you did know about that?,” he asked and the Doctor inclined his head. “Anyway, after the divorce, she moved back for a bit, but with everythin’ that had happened, and what with the way she and Sylvia get on, it was too much. She’s livin’ on her own now, not too far from here. We talk, regular-like, on the phone, but she doesn’t come ‘round too often,” Wilf said sadly. “Especially since I avoided takin’ her up here with me, for fear of what might happen.” He stopped and pursed his lips before taking a deep breath and continuing. “But what did you mean, sir, what you saw ‘around and inside her’?”

“A memory... adjustment... is always a bit of a dodgy thing. There was always the chance that it would go a bit wrong, especially with someone as ... tenacious as Donna,” the Doctor admitted reluctantly. “The defense mechanism I put in place is still holding, and I have other means of monitoring the stability of the Time Lord part of her mind, but periodically, I stop by to check on her,” he confessed. At Wilf’s raised eyebrows, he added, “Just a quick check, mind, nothing intrusive or dangerous ... mostly.” He stopped for a moment and Wilf was amused when the Doctor reached up to nervously straighten the bow tie he’d just noticed the man was wearing. “Anyway, I managed a completely unobtrusive inspection of her mind earlier on the train and the results of my examination are perplexing, to say the least.”

“What was it? What did you find?” Wilf asked, concerned. “Is she all right?”

“Something is interfering with her memories, Wilf. Specifically, her memories of me,” the Doctor revealed, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “And I want to know what and why.”

“But Doctor,” Wilf asked with a frown. “Isn't that a good thing? If those dangerous memories are gone, won't she be better? Won't she be out of danger then?”

The Doctor snatched a Jammie Dodger from the packet on the table and began waving it about in the air before him. “I don't know what's causing it, so I can't tell. Her futures are muddy and convoluted, more wibbly-wobbly than they should be for my liking,” he announced, jumping to his feet and pacing about madly. His shoulders were hunched and he stalked about, ranting almost to himself. “But what bothers me, what really, really concerns me is that Donna seems to have some recollections of me. That shouldn’t be possible, not without dire consequences, at any rate, so why can I see, in her mind, images of the two of us in places we've never been?” He took a petulant bite from his biscuit and turned on his heel, fixing Wilf with a penetrating gaze. “Tell me, Wilf- have there been any changes in Donna's life recently? Anything that might upset her?” He stood straight then and examined the remains of the biscuit in his hand. “More than usual, I mean,” he muttered, and for the first time, Wilf knew in his bones that this was, in fact, the man Donna had traveled with.

“The thing is, I don't think it was 'you' that you were seein’, Doctor,” Wilf began. “The ‘you’ you see with her, in her memories, it isn’t really you. I mean, I know, he looks like you, but he isn’t,” Wilf tried to explain. When the Doctor merely cocked his head like a confused puppy, Wilf sighed and continued. “Donna is seein’ someone now, accordin’ to him,” he revealed with reluctance.

“I’m sorry? Him? Him, who?” the Doctor said, straightening his tie again in exasperation.

“You...I mean, the man Donna’s seein’, he looks just like you. Not the ‘you’ now, but the ‘you’ then,” Wilf tried to clarify.

“WHHAAAT?” the Doctor drawled loudly, jerking his head back with a snap. “Wilf, again, you’re not making any sense,” he complained.

“I know it sounds bonkers, but there it is. He looks enough like 'you' that Sylvia nearly took his head off when he came to the door,” Wilf continued, gesturing absently at him.

“And Donna is seeing this man?” the Doctor asked with a confused smirk. He rested his chin in his hand, cradling his elbow for support and crossing his ankles where he stood. For some reason, Wilf was forcibly reminded of a stork on a chimney-top.

Wilf nodded. “He said he was a policeman, a Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle, investigatin’ Donna’s disappearance and her memory loss, on her behalf. He was askin’ questions about Doctor John Smith and how he and Donna were.... acquainted,” he finished awkwardly.

“And how did he look, this Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle?” the Doctor demanded suddenly, his eyes blazing with intensity.

“I already told you, just exactly like the old 'you'...except for the hair, that is,” Wilf added. “That, and he was... still.”

The Doctor shot him a glance but let the observation pass. “Did he look at all odd to you? Maybe a touch shiny, a bit of a plastic sheen? Or were there any queer veins about him? Did he have sort of a waxy look?” he asked, hands dancing in the air and not pausing for breath.

“No, Doctor, like I told you, he looked almost exactly like ‘you’,” repeated Wilf. “I actually thought it was you, even up close, until I looked in his eyes.”

The Doctor stood quietly for several seconds and Wilf began to wonder if he was doing it on purpose, to spite his earlier comment. “Donna?” he whispered quietly. He turned again and continued, his voice slowly gaining in volume. “With a man who looked like the old me? A skinny streak of nothing?" He nibbled on his biscuit pensively, then resumed his earlier pacing. "And according to ‘me’, how long have they been ‘seeing each other’?” the Doctor spat, making air quotes and sneering at the phrase.

“Well, now, that’s the odd thing,” Wilf divulged. “I don’t know, exactly. I haven’t talked to Donna about it and I’ve not actually seen them together.”

The Doctor bent low to peer at Wilf with a quizzical expression. “Wait, she wasn’t with him?” At Wilf’s answering nod, he whirled about like a dervish before wobbling to a halt, grabbing at his lapel with one hand as the other shot up in the air in triumph. “What kind of a boyfriend comes to visit his lady love’s family without her along for the first time?! Obviously a ruse...,” he said with a dangerous grin.

He stomped about, sweeping his arms around, thinking aloud. “And why do this? Is it benign, someone else just checking up on her? There are innumerable worlds that owe her a debt...” He paused in his mad dance and changed direction, making Wilf’s head swim in the process. “Or is it some form of reconnaissance intended to inform a preliminary attack on her or perhaps a way to discern my own weaknesses?” He stopped and rubbed his face with his hands. The possibilities were too many to consider without further information.

When he failed to continue or clarify his statements, Wilf demanded, “But this man? This Detective Inspector Carlisle? Is he a danger to her?”

“I don't know, not yet,” the Doctor answered, striding back to stand before Wilf. “I didn't have time for a proper inspection of her mind and Donna's always been on the private side when it came to her inner self. I never tried to breach her defenses, not without her permission, until...” He stilled, looking down at his hands for a long moment before relaunching his tirade. “And even then, if she’d been wholly herself, I don’t know if...” He frowned, then turned back to Wilf. “She was warm and open and caring, and never for one second did she hesitate to smack me back in line if she felt I had gone too far, but she valued her privacy. She was always there for me, yet she still guarded her self, if you will.”

He sniffed, then continued. “This man, he may be what he says, but I don't yet know the ... scope ... of their involvement. I merely peeked at the Time Lord part of her- I didn't want to be intrusive. Her timelines are unclear, they cross over and merge and ... when I'm as ... compromised.. as I am in this instance, I'm never really sure how much of what I see is really, really, there and how much of it is either dread or wishful thinking, on my part...” he acknowledged. He looked away, but not before Wilf caught a glimpse of a complex mix of emotions playing across the other man’s face.

“Well, they are keepin’ company quite a bit, according to him, at any rate,” Wilf told him quietly.

"What?!? Paper cuts not a problem for her anymore?" the Doctor said in a huff, crossing his arms, chin almost touching his chest.

Wilf looked on in concern, mystified by his reaction. "Doctor," he began slowly, "you do know how Donna felt about you, don't you?

"Of course," he replied, refusing to look at Wilf. He rocked back on his heels, weaving circles in the air with one hand. "She was my best mate and she felt all best-matey about me." He slouched forward suddenly and fisted his hands in his pockets like a guilty schoolboy, angry at being caught out. “She made that very clear from the first moment she set foot onboard the TARDIS.”

Something akin to realization dawned then, and Wilf gently persisted. “But when you erased her memories, surely you must have seen....”

“Wilf,” the Doctor confessed, deflating. “I closed my eyes. A gentleman doesn't peek when faced with a situation where a lady is unwillingly vulnerable. When I buried her memories, of all we'd seen and done together, it was like burying her; the Donna I knew. That Donna is dead and gone; to me, to everyone.” He glanced overhead at the stars and inhaled deeply, rubbing his face with his hands again wearily. “And after all we’d been through together, after all we shared, to have her look right through me, as if...” he blinked away what might have been tears before throwing his shoulders back and pushing his hair from his face. “Well.”

“Doctor,” Wilf said, “What will you do now?”

“What I always do, of course,” he said with a shrug. “Find out everything I can about this impostor and the culprit behind him, thwart their evil plot and generally do everything in my power to protect her.” He popped the last of his biscuit into his mouth and brushed crumbs from his hands. “And all without her knowledge, of course.” He favored Wilf with a grim smile that fooled neither man.

When the silence between them became unbearable, the Doctor drew himself up and turned to face Wilf. “I'm grateful, you know. I lost her, but at least I still have you to talk to,” he said softly. He shook his head, smiling slightly. “You knew I'd need you someday. You told me the where and the when to help me find you again.”

Wilf chuckled and gently patted the older man with the younger face on the shoulder. The Doctor’s lips quirked up into a wry grin and he nodded towards the TARDIS. “Fancy a little hop?” he offered, and there he was again, all mischief and mirth, but with a deeper layer of sadness overlying the cheek.

Wilf shook his head sadly. “I can’t, Doctor, I just can’t. I want to, but I can’t.” His eyes began to water slightly and he hastened to explain. “I couldn't keep it from my face when I saw her again, and it would hurt too much, knowin’ I could do what she can't.”

The Doctor shrugged, then inclined his head toward Wilf. “No, I didn't reckon you would,” he admitted. “But still... You’re a good man, Wilf,” the Doctor said finally. He stood and reached for one of the mugs he’d set out and grimaced as he sipped the now-cold tea within. He set it back on the table and turned to leave.

“Doctor, I want you to know,” Wilf called after him. “Every now and then, bits of her ... the real her ... peek out. Even after everythin’ that happened, she's still the better for havin’ met you,” he said, his voice wavering. “We all are.”

The Doctor stopped in his tracks and bowed his head, nodding once, before resuming his trek to where the TARDIS stood. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key before disappearing in the shadows beyond. Just as the doors closed, Wilf heard him softly mutter, “Thank you, Wilf,” before he melted away into the night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter starts researching Donna's past and Donna meets up with Nerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.

**Saturday, 19 May 2012 6:45 AM**

Peter Carlisle perched on the edge of his chair, absently chewing on his pen cap, his face bathed in the light from the computer monitor before him. He’d awoken, earlier than he had intended, prodded by the nagging feeling that he’d overlooked something- something obvious and important. He had tried to curl back up against Donna, to go back to sleep for a few hours, but without success; whatever else it was, this feeling was persistent. He had only the faintest glimmer of an idea to guide him and he’d reluctantly dragged himself out of bed to go to the office and eventually meet Ian. It was far too early to expect him in, but he intended to use the extra time to dig deeper into Donna’s past.

He looked around, disoriented for a moment before he found his clothes neatly hung on a hook near the bed where Donna must have put them the night before after she had rescued them from a forgotten heap on her living room floor. He smiled and made a mental note to pack a bag and leave it in the trunk of his car from now on, as he didn’t see himself making it home to his lonely apartments often: not as long as she was willing to share her bed, at any rate. He’d left Donna sleeping with a kiss and a note, promising to contact her later to make arrangements to meet for a late lunch. An hour and 20 minutes had elapsed since then and as he sat in his darkened office searching through the unsolved case records, he’d finally found what he’d been looking for.

Two days. Two scant days and she’d quit, but it was enough. Donna Noble had left a blip in the records of the now-defunct Adipose Industries. Normally, her short stint with the company would have been lost to time and data retention policies, but since the company had been abruptly closed under mysterious circumstances involving a suspicious death and dodgy scientific claims, all information had been retained as part of the unsolved police investigation. He slogged back through the company employee records until he located her file.

Initially, he’d dismissed the job with the Health and Safety Department as a dead-end, but there was something about it that nagged at him and it kept popping back into his thoughts at the most inopportune moments. No more, though- he was going to get to the bottom of this now, in the early morning hours, with no one around to interrupt. He’d come across a casual mention of Adipose Industries in her notice of resignation with her long-term temp agency and he’d been able to gain access to the Adipose employment records, since they still had an unsolved death on the books. Donna’s file held her application, her employee ID photo and her building access codes; that was all he needed to begin. 

Peter ran a search of the company’s records, looking for her access codes as a means to trace her actions. Adipose Industries seemed to be the last job she’d held before her disappearance, and it was in right in the middle of her memory loss. Perhaps, if he was lucky, there’d be a clue in her movements to indicate what circumstances had caused her to vanish without a trace. He took a few notes, tapping his pen impatiently against his teeth in between when suddenly, it struck him. He sat back and considered the whole of her employment history as detailed on her application, and there was the connection that had been niggling about in the back of his mind: Donna had worked for two very high-profile corporations, both of which had closed shortly thereafter, both under very suspicious circumstances.

He flipped back through the report on the desk before him, looking for something else he’d seen earlier: a Witness Statement made by Penny Carter, science correspondent for The Observer. In her complaint, she maintained that she had been forcibly detained by company officials when her investigation into the scientific merits of the company’s only product, the Adipose Diet pills, was discovered. She claimed to have been tied to a chair and interrogated by Miss Foster, the head of the company, and threatened with bodily injury before she made some outrageous statements that implied that the company was a front for alien, as in ‘little-green-men-from-outer-space”, activities. Miss Carter further asserted that, in her words, ‘a grinning madman with some sort of torch that made noise and a ginger woman’ had interrupted the interrogation and that she’d been released and recaptured in the confusion caused by them afterwards. The two individuals mentioned had been caught on surveillance cameras and had been sought for questioning concerning the circumstances leading to the death of Miss Foster, but to no avail. They simply seemed to have vanished just as the police had arrived on the scene. He checked the witness information and found that Penny Carter left the Observer soon after to take a job with a German science magazine and had moved out of the country. _If all else fails_ , he thought, _maybe I could track her down later_.

He logged in to the cold case files online and punched in the access code for the incident. The original CCTV footage was unavailable online, but the few stills taken from it showed vague glimpses of a woman who could have been Donna with a slender, wild-haired man; confronting Miss Foster and two security guards in the call center, running through the basement of the company, and standing on the rooftop waving at something out of the view of the camera. Peter punched angrily at the keyboard and printed them out. He was almost certain the woman in the picture was Donna, but the poor-quality images available were maddening. It was if someone had purposely chosen the worst possible frames to save- all he could clearly see of the woman was her flying hair and as for the man, he was always, always turned away from the camera, with only a partial out-of-focus frame of his profile to suggest his appearance. Was this Donna with the enigmatic Doctor Smith? Peter sniffed and rubbed his nose absently as he studied the picture- he supposed he could see some sort of resemblance between himself and the man in the pictures, but the similarity was superficial at best, if the photos were anything to go on.

On sudden impulse, Peter queried the unsolved case database, looking for information on the destruction of H.C. Clements. Again, Donna’s employment history coincided with the destruction of a company involved in something mysterious and dangerous. He cursed aloud when he accessed the few available images online taken from the security cameras. This time, the blurry pictures showed only someone who looked to be the same man from Adipose Industries, and in the same suit, no less. The first two pictures were taken on the street outside of HC Clements, and the third and final image, taken from a great distance, showed one, or possibly two people standing on top of one of the gates in the Thames barrier, looking out over the drained river. They were worse than useless and Peter wondered why anyone had even bothered with them. He cursed again and flopped back in his chair, absently scratching at his elbow as Ian backed into the room with two bags of pastry in one hand and a drinks holder with coffee in the other.

“Judging by the language on you, the investigation is still not going as planned, I’d say,” Ian said by way of greeting. “Should I just turn around and go home or is it safe to enter?” He put their breakfast down on the table and pulled a cup from the holder, offering it to Peter with a sardonic smile. Peter accepted the beverage with an embarrassed smirk and and nodded his thanks as Ian peeked into both bags before handing one to him.

“Nah, I actually came in early to finish lookin’ up somethin’ that caught my attention awhile back,” Peter admitted as he stuffed the printouts into a folder, but not before Ian saw a flash of ginger in one of the pictures. “Nothin’ official.”

Ian pretended not to notice and discretely turned away, and Peter appreciated the man’s diplomacy. He hesitated, about to stuff the folder into his desk drawer before he decided against it. “It’s about someone I met durin’ the course of this investigation. Someone I’ve been seein’ “ he admitted. “Strictly personal.”

Ian looked up from his almond croissant in wonder, mid-bite, and nodded to Peter. “The ginger?” he asked around a mouthful of pastry and it was Peter’s turn to blink in surprise.

“You saw her that night?” he asked, opening the bag on his desk and half-heartedly picking at the whole grain popover within. He’d asked for heathy and the man had taken him at his word: peeking inside, he found there wasn’t even butter or jam for it in the bag.

Ian snickered behind his breakfast and took pity on his partner. “Break it open. There’s a bit of strawberry in the center. I’ve watched you eat and I know how you like your sweets. There’s healthy,” he said with a wave of his hand at Peter’s breakfast, “and then there’s healthy....” he said with disgust, pointing at the discarded cardboard drinks tray. “And no, I didn’t see her that night- I’m assuming you mean at the scene of Morgan’s murder- but I did see you see her.” Peter nodded, slightly chagrinned: he hadn’t realized his interest had been so obvious. Ian continued, undeterred by his partner’s silence. “What with the way you fly out of here at lunch now and in the evenings since, and the water cooler talk of you being seen at lunch with a dishy ginger and I can put two and two....”

“What?” Peter interrupted. “People are talkin’ about me and who I’m seen with?  How long has this been goin’ on?” he said indignantly, his temper flaring.

“Since the first day you got here,” Ian countered. “You never say anything about yourself personally, you don’t appear to have any family or friends and you’ve turned down every invitation anyone has ever made in an attempt to make you feel at home here,” Ian pointed out. “After a while, people get curious, even more so here, where being nosy is a job requirement. If you don’t tell them something every now and then, they’re gonna make it all up for themselves,” he finished reasonably. “You knew they would.”

Peter eyed his popover with intense concentration before digging his thumbs into the top and tearing it in half. He toyed with the pieces a moment before he looked up at his partner, who was eyeing him expectantly from across the table. “You’re right,” he admitted slowly. “Old habits die hardest, and ... well, I’m accustomed to keepin’ my own counsel. But it’s been brought to my attention that my policy may well be untenable under the current circumstances. At any rate, I’ve taken it under advisement.” He took a tentative bite of the pastry he’d been picking at and smiled suddenly at Ian. “It’s good,” he said, both surprised and grateful, and Ian knew he wasn’t just referring to breakfast.

 

  
**********

Five hours of searching and theorizing later, and Peter and Ian were no closer to a break in the case. They’d traced all recent reports of vandalism, and scanned through hours of CCTV footage, always looking for anyone who might possibly be their primary suspect, Bence, but identifying anything about anyone on camera was proving to be nearly impossible. Shadowy figures lurked on the outskirts of the screen with faces hidden and hoods always up. It was obvious they knew the exact location of every camera in their environment and the precise recording area of each: they gracefully skirted the no-man’s land between, only occasionally drifting into frame. One figure even had the audacity to wave for the camera on a regular basis.

With nothing to show for their efforts and nowhere else to look, Peter sat back heavily, chucking his pen across his desk in frustration. This morning had been yet another exercise in futility: nothing had yielded results- the discreet inquires, the hours spent going over footage, the officers on foot patrol- nothing. And to top if off, all he had managed to do today was to waste most of a perfectly good Saturday morning; time that could have been more profitably spent elsewhere, preferably in the company of a certain ginger. The start of a truly monumental rant was poised on his lips when he glanced up and caught sight of the folder containing clues to Donna’s past, still lying on his desk. The morning hadn’t been a total loss, he had to concede, and he scratched absently at the back of his neck.

“Someone, somewhere must know something, DI,” Ian said with determination. “They may not realize it, though. We just have to find them. I know how you feel about it, but we may have to appeal to the media.” At Peter’s snort of disdain, Ian paused for a moment before continuing. “Morgan was young, well-liked and, most important for these purposes, photogenic. If we appeal to the media, reminding them of their civic duty while waving a photo of Morgan beneath their noses, we might just get the break we need.”

“As if the physical attractiveness of a victim somehow makes solving his or her murder more pressing than that of another,” Peter muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “What sort of sense does that make?”

“What’s the saying? 'If it bleeds, it leads'? Just the reality of the world we live in today,” Ian said with a shrug.

Peter crossed his arms and ran his tongue over his teeth, considering. “An’ you have contacts in the media? Someone you’re sure you can trust with this, to treat it properly and not make it a three-ring circus?” he asked finally.

“I do,” Ian replied. “Someone I went to school with. Good man, got into the news business for the right reasons. Has a strong sense of civic duty, and he’ll bring any leads that result straight to us. I’ve worked with him in the past,” Alec said reasonably. He rested his elbow on his desk and leaned his cheek into his fist. “This department has gotten results from him before.”

Peter weighed their options for a long, quiet moment before reluctantly concluding that they really didn’t have any. He sniffed again and rubbed his chin with the back of his hand before standing up straight and stretching violently. “Call your friend, then. I think we’ve wasted enough of our lives here today.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, thumbing the screen to bring up his messages and moving toward the door.

“I don’t suppose...,” Ian started slowly, hesitating before he backpedaled. “Nah, forget it,” he said when Peter stopped mid-stride and looked at him questioningly. Ian turned away to tidy his desk and, almost to himself, added, “I’m sure you have other plans for lunch. I’ll just pick up something on the way home.”

“Ian,” Peter said after some obvious hesitation and with a surprising amount of regret, “I actually do have plans.” He had to admit to himself that his first impulse was an automatic refusal, but he paused and ran his free hand through his hair for a moment before drawing it down across his face and breathing out heavily. He looked over at his partner’s resigned face and realized that this might very well be the last attempt Ian would ever make. He considered his course of action, torn between spending time with Donna and remembering her admonishment when she’d discovered the state of his relationships with his coworkers, and he made a decision. “But they’re tentative,” he offered. “Hold on. Let me send word and see if I can rearrange my day.” He sent a quick text and hoped that Donna would be able to respond promptly.

 

*********

Donna stepped out of the station, glancing at her mobile out of habit and smiled. Just as she knew, it was 11:48 on the dot: it would take her exactly nine minutes to get to the George and her appointment with Nerys. It had been more than two weeks since she’d last seen her oldest friend: two and a half weeks of flimsy excuses, stammered apologies and promises to make it up to her, and even though Donna knew there’d be hell to pay, it was worth it. She drifted back to that morning and the note her lover - she bit her lip to stifle the smile that thought elicited- had left her to find. 

_Donna,_   
_I’m sorry I missed your smile this morning, but the sooner I go, the sooner I can return. I’ll text you when I’m free to see if you can take a call._   
_I can meet you later, if you want, for a late lunch?_   
_Peter_

The cautious nature of his request nearly broke her heart. Surely he knew that she’d go to any lengths to spend time with him? She couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it, but it was beginning to look as though he was as smitten with her as she was with him. _Finally_ , she thought as she pulled open the door to the George and headed to the Throne Room and her friend waiting there, _somethin’ in my life is going my way_.

Nerys glanced up in surprise at the woman who slipped gracefully into the chair across from her instead of the customary spot beside her. Donna always sat on her right, the better position for the two of them to observe the comings and goings at the George and comment on everything and everyone around. She had never seen Donna look so relaxed, so content, so...happy. She was positively glowing and Nerys found herself curious and a bit envious of whatever had wrought such a dramatic transformation in her friend.

“Nerys, it’s lovely to see you. I’m sorry it’s been so long. What have you been up to? And how are the twins?” Donna asked in a rush, obviously trying to steer the conversation towards Nerys’ favorite topic- herself. Nerys wasn’t mollified in the slightest.

“As if it mattered to you,” she complained. “If you’d been bothered to keep our regular appointments for the past month,” Nerys groused, and Donna ignored the exaggeration, nodding apologetically.

“I know, I know,” she admitted, “but I’ve been busy takin' care of some ... personal matters,” she finished with a smile.

“And do these ‘personal matters’ have a name?” Nerys asked caustically as she toyed with her glass before taking a drink, “or is it worth learnin'? Is he already gone?” She was pleased as the momentary flicker of irritation and pain behind Donna’s eyes before the other woman recovered her mental footing.

“You’ve seen him,” Donna returned cooly, “and honestly, he’s why I’m here today.” Nerys quirked an eyebrow at Donna, inviting her to continue. She paused for effect and added, “Peter wants to meet you.” It was her turn to smirk at Nerys’ momentarily dumbfounded expression. “He’s already met my family,” she said quietly, conveniently omitting the details of that encounter.

As she contemplated Donna’s quiet confidence, Nerys sensed that the balance of power in their relationship- one that had been in her favor for years- was shifting, and she didn’t like it in the least. But what to do about it, exactly? “What precisely did you have in mind?” she asked, watching Donna carefully for clues. “Someplace posh? ‘Cos I’m not sure I have anythin' to wear... “ she said with a calculatingly tragic air. If she were very, very careful, she could still work this in her favor.

Donna recognized the ploy for what it was and smiled. _Same old Nerys_ , she though wryly, _nothin’ wrong with her feelings a shoppin' trip couldn’t fix_. “No,” she said slowly, “just a night at the George, but I wouldn’t say no to a quick bout of retail therapy and girl bondin' before.” Nerys lowered her head and looked up at Donna through her lashes expectantly. “On me, of course,” added Donna with a smile. “And I need to get the twins a birthday gift anyway.”   _This could work to my advantage_ , Donna thought with surprise. _I can have a bit of silly fun to apologize, bribe Nerys into behaving, and do a spot of shopping for Peter at the same time_. Remembering Peter, she said, “But it’ll have to...” She was interrupted as her mobile vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out and grinned.

_Donna,_   
_My partner asked me to lunch. I’d rather be with you, but you suggested I socialize more. Can we meet for dinner instead? I promise, I’ll make it up to you. Whatever you want._   
_Peter_

As she dashed off a reply, Donna said, “Actually, we can go now, if you’re not busy. I’m free for the afternoon.“

 

**********

Just as the wait was becoming uncomfortable, Peter’s mobile trilled in his hand. He read her answer, smiling knowingly at the screen.

  
_It’s OK, Policeman. I’m catching up with Nerys. We can do a bit of shopping while I wait for you. You can make it up to me tonight, after dinner at the George. There’s a band playing tonight..._

“Yeah, I’m free,” he said to Ian. He pushed the door open and nodded toward the corridor beyond. “Let’s go.”

 

**********

“Major Mugumbo,” Lieutenant Nathan called breathlessly as he skidded to a halt before his commanding officer and saluted.

“Yes,” she said, returning the gesture and regarding the young man anxiously standing before her, “ I’m pressed for time. Can this wait?”

“Major Mugumbo, mum, I’m afraid not,” he said, handing her a slim file. “It’s about him. Someone’s looking into things best left alone. Someone's investigating the Doctor.”

She reached out and flipped through the dossier, pursing her lips in thought. “Best keep an eye on this one, then. This is your responsibility, Nathan. I expect you to keep on top of it,” she said briskly, handing the folder back to him. “I want a full report on this man before the end of the day.”

Nathan saluted and replied, “Yes, mum. Right away, mum.” He turned smartly on his heel and walked back to the offices of the Special Ops division to begin his report on Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all started with a kiss; just a little one, not even enough to qualify as a full-on snog. A gentle, hesitant brush of lips, chaste and discreet, music filling the air under a canopy of stars and suddenly, there was no turning back. Heads swam, hearts raced fast, too fast, and they were lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.

**Saturday, 19 May 2012 7:45 PM**

It all started with a kiss; just a little one, not even enough to qualify as a full-on snog. A gentle, hesitant brush of lips, chaste and discreet, music filling the air under a canopy of stars and suddenly, there was no turning back. Heads swam, hearts raced fast, too fast, and they were lost.

**********

They’d arrived early, sitting at the bar to order dinner- much to Lewis, the barkeep’s surprise- not wanting to monopolize Donna’s regular spot for just the two of them on a busy Saturday night. Perched side by side on the old wooden stools, they’d bantered with Lewis as he refilled their pints and Mairead when she’d brought their meal out from the kitchen. As the crowd began to swell and the resultant din to build, Peter had nudged Donna’s shoulder with his own. She’d turned, smiling, to bat at him gently and he’d nodded towards the table above, waggling his eyebrows with a hopeful smile. At Donna’s answering grin, he scooped up their drinks and headed towards the stairs, pausing to wait for her to go before him.

“A shame Nerys couldnae join us t’night,” Peter said with false sincerity.

“Couldn’t find a sitter on such short notice,” Donna lied: she hadn’t asked, unsure if she was ready to expose Peter to Nerys at this point in their relationship.

He nodded and added knowingly, “We’ll have to give her more notice next time.” After a moment, he added sincerely, “I really do want to meet yer friends,” and he was rewarded with a sweet smile from Donna.

He’d been so preoccupied with the thought of moving somewhere a bit more private that it was only when he leaned over to place their drinks on the table that he’d realized he’d neglected to settle the bill downstairs.

“Whoops,” he said, reaching behind to fish out his wallet from his pocket as he started back to the bar, “forgot t' pay. Be right back- it wouldnae do for Lewis and Mairead to think we’ve skipped out...”

“Sit down, Policeman. This one’s on me,” Donna drawled, her head spinning pleasantly from a combination of alcohol and amusement. Peter regarded her with a puzzled expression and she clarified. “I’ve got a tab here, ya know.”

“Oh, no, Donna,” he protested, “I’ll no have ye payin’ our way and besides, I asked ye to dinner...” 

She waved away his objections airly. “Copper, sit down. Lewis knows what to do, and don’t think he didn’t see us leavin’. He knows exactly where every person in this pub is, at any given moment, and if anyone had the audacity to try and skip out on the bill, he’d have Mairead on ‘em so fast, their heads would spin. Kinda like mine, actually, but not as fun,” she mused, smiling slightly before continuing. “I wouldn’t recommend that. It’s not a pretty sight when she gets her Irish up and goes after someone. Aaannnndddd, if you’ll think back,” she sang, waggling a finger at him, “I asked you to dinner: not the other way ‘round. So sit.”

When he swayed slightly on the spot, she wasn’t sure if it was indecision or intoxication that affected his balance.

“You,” she barked sternly, pointing at Peter, “Sit. Now.” She patted the chair beside her with a straight face. “You’re not a kept man,” she continued, ending on a giggle, completely ruining her serious demeanor. “Lewis and Mairead both know you’ve paid every other time we’ve been here, so your manly pride can stay intact.”

“But, Donna...” he began in what he hoped was a reasonable tone.

“Peter, you’re brilliant! Your butt is exactly what I want you to park in this chair, right here,” she said, wobbling a bit in her own chair with a silly smile.

When he still failed to move, Donna pulled out her trump card and added in a sultry voice, “Please don’t deprive me of the pleasure of your company, not even for a minute.” 

He smiled suddenly, one of his gorgeous, blinding, irrepressible grins and said, “Why, Miss Noble, if I didnae know better, I’d say ye were slightly impaired, under the influence of strong drink.” He ambled back and leaned over her, bracing himself on the arms of her chair.

“You’re wrong, Copper. Just a bit pissed, is all,” she clarified with a silly smirk as her hands drifted of their own accord to cover his.

“Unfit to walk,” he countered, leaning closer, his smile as dark as his eyes, “exhibitin' behaviour likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress t' others.”

“Are you feelin’ harassed, alarmed or distressed, DI?” she asked, her smile threatening to morph into a grin as her hands slowly made their way up his forearms.

“Oh, most definitely,” he replied, moving to whisper in her ear, “but that’s no to be taken as a cease and desist order.” 

“Are you insinuatin' that I’m drunk and disorderly?” she protested, suppressing a guffaw and batting his chest without any force as he nipped at her neck.

Peter caught her hand and smiled mischievously. “No yet, missy, but let’s just say that before this evenin’ is concluded, I hope to have cause to issue a Penalty Notice,” he purred, ducking forward for a kiss before finally collapsing into the chair beside her.

So there they sat, giggling and flirting shamelessly, occasionally putting their heads together and whispering some shared secret before dissolving in peals of suppressed laughter. Peter stretched theatrically and draped his arm around Donna’s shoulder, squeezing her arm gently and and breaking out in a grin as Donna batted his hand away and leaned back into him with her shoulder. He made a scene of swaying in his chair for a moment before Donna rolled her eyes to the heavens and snagged the front of his jumper to drag him back to her, all the while oblivious to Mairead smiling from below.

**********

“Donna, my glass is empty,” Peter said slowly, peering into the bottom of his pint. “Why... is my glass empty?”

“ 'Cos, ya big dumbo, we’re on the second floor, all by our lonesome, and Mairead and Margaret don’t have time to be traipsin’ up the stairs just to check on us,” Donna replied, amused. She suspected he wasn’t half as plastered as he let on, but she was still enjoying the situation immensely. He was relaxed and playful, and watching him, Donna decided he just might be taking advantage of the situation, allowing himself a bit of licence to flirt in public. He smiled at her brightly, which all but confirmed her suspicions, and grabbed her by the hand, tugging her out of her chair.

“Well, then,” he said as he drew her into his arms for a quick kiss, “we’ll just have to remedy that situation immediately.” He guided her to the stairs and took hold of both her hand and the handrail, making sure they got safely back to the ground floor. Donna sauntered over to the bar and leaned against it, waiting for Lewis to notice her as Peter’s attention was drawn to the back window and the stage behind the George.

“Oi!” Donna yelled when Lewis didn’t respond in what she deemed was a reasonable amount of time, catching both Peter and Lewis off-guard. “What’s a lady have to do to get served around here?” She tried her best to scowl, but when Lewis jumped in surprise, she dissolved in gales of laughter.

“Oh, no, Donna, you’re no mere lady. You’re a woman,” Lewis cried with gusto when he’d had a moment to recover. “And I just heard you roar,” he added, sotto voce for the benefit of the regulars gathered about. He plopped a pint on the bar before her with a wink and nodded knowingly to Peter. “How ya holdin’ up there, mate? Another for you, too?”

Peter nodded and made a point of pushing a twenty across the bar. As he placed Peter’s drink on the counter, Lewis’s eyes shot over to Donna, who shook her head. Stymied, Peter looked between them both before pointedly stuffing the cash into the tip jar on the bar, much to Lewis’ amusement. With a smug expression of triumph, he leaned across Donna and snagged both their drinks before turning for the door that lead to the stage, Donna following behind with an annoyed quirk to her lips. When Peter turned, drinks in hand, to back out of the door, his self-satisfied expression forced Donna to look away quickly, lest he see her irritation change to amusement.

Peter stood just outside the doorway as Donna joined him on the crowded patio. Fully half the Saturday crowd had gathered there in the cool evening breeze, and looking around, he found there were no empty tables left. He shifted, trying to decide whether they should lean against the wall or try and find seats at one of the crowded tables to listen to the trio on stage, the female singer belting out an Etta James cover. Just as he resolved to attempt to make space for them at a nearby table, Donna snagged his arm and nodded towards the stairs hugging the back of the building. The first few steps were taken, but the treads were wide enough for them to make their way higher up and sit to watch the rest of the concert. Peter nodded his assent and Donna relieved him of one of the glasses, taking a drink before heading up, the better to avoid spilling anything on the people below as she went aloft. Peter followed her and sat down, two steps above Donna so she could sit sideways, stretched out with her back against the railing and her arm resting on his knees.

Peter listened to the music- the vocalist was actually quite good- and leaned back on one elbow sipping his drink, gazing at the profile of the woman below him. Donna had set her own drink down and was smiling slightly as she closed her eyes, leaning forward, hugging Peter’s knees together and resting her head there as she listened. The crowd applauded as the song ended and Peter reached out to stroke Donna’s hair gently before he caressed her arm. When she turned to beam at him, Peter spread his legs and Donna gave him a knowing smile before moving up and shifting in between them.

It started innocently enough, with Donna settling back and hooking an arm around each of his knees, Peter still stroking her hair. When the keyboardist played the first few notes of one of her favorite songs, Donna grinned and tossed her head back into his lap to look up at him and Peter laughed, leaning forward to kiss her gently. When they parted, she stretched back to put her arms around his waist, drawing him closer. Donna closed her eyes and listened to the music as he watched the performance and continued to toy with her hair. He glanced down at her and was momentarily distressed when he saw a tear streak down her cheek until he noticed she was silently mouthing the lyrics.

 

_“You've been on my mind, I grow fonder every day,_   
_Lose myself in time just thinking of your face,_   
_God only knows why it's taken me so long to let my doubts go,_   
_You're the only one that I want ...”_

 

He reached down to brushed the droplet from her face and when she opened her eyes to look up at him, Peter was startled to see how blue they were, brimming with tears threatening to spill over. He gazed down and was relieved to see her smiling through her tears and he cupped her face, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. She turned her face into his caress and closed her eyes again, continuing to silently repeat the words as the vocalist sang.

 

_“I don't know why I'm scared, I've been here before,_   
_Every feeling, every word, I've imagined it all,_   
_You'll never know if you never try,_   
_To forget your past and simply be mine ...”_

 

Peter had heard the song a hundred times or more, but until he watched Donna’s reaction, he hadn’t really paid attention to the meaning behind the words and suddenly, he couldn’t bear to let her cry. Impulsively, he leaned forward to kiss her again, upside down, and Donna laughed and sat up. She shifted sideways between his knees and Peter leaned forward to curl his arm about her waist. This time, when she followed along with the singer, she whispered the lyrics in his ear.

 

_“I dare you to let me be your, your one and only,_   
_Promise I'm worthy to hold in your arms,_   
_So come on and give me a chance,_   
_To prove I am the one who can walk that mile,_   
_Until the end starts.”_

 

When she pulled back, smiling, he glanced around the audience outside and saw that all eyes were on the stage, so he risked pulling her up into a brief but passionate kiss. He nibbled at her bottom lip before releasing her and was rewarded with a giddy, dazed expression on her face. He started to lean back again, but her arms shot out around his neck and she pulled him, unprotesting, back to her mouth. As her tongue danced over his, he had to admit- she gave as good as she got. When they broke apart finally, his look of surprise was matched only by her delight: sitting between his legs as she was, she’d felt his response to her assault. She smiled, biting her thumb and Peter felt himself harden as the tip of her tongue peeked out, playing about in her mouth. Her satisfaction with his flustered state was complete, and this, he decided, would not be allowed to stand. Her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in once more and kissed her cheek, her lips and her neck before moving down and biting the round of her shoulder.

Donna bit back a shriek and caught the railing before her, hauling herself to her feet and tugging at his hand. He just managed to stack his empty glass in hers and grab them both before she yanked him upright and she had to lean against him to prevent him overbalancing and toppling down the stairs. He reeled for a moment before he righted himself and they both giggled in relief as they made their way to the door. Donna backed through the door, taking the glasses from Peter’s hand as he stumbled behind her when he tried to kiss her again, and turning back towards the bar, she froze dead in her tracks.

The pub was deathly silent until Peter caught her in his arms and Donna was unprepared for the cacophony that enveloped them both as the room was flooded with applause, cheers and not a few catcalls from the patrons within. In answer to Donna’s look of confusion, every arm in the place shot up and, as one, pointed to the window above the bar: the window that afforded a spectacular framed view of the spot on the stairs they’d recently occupied. Donna’s face flamed brighter than her hair and she tried desperately to melt into the floor, giving up and turning to hide her face in Peter’s chest. He had the good grace to at least flush slightly before beaming and waving at the crowd as he walked Donna to the counter and set their glasses down.

Amid the cries of “Good on ya” and “When’s the next show?”, Peter guided Donna to the exit with an embarrassed grin until someone yelled out, “This is goin’ on YouTube!” and the pub was plunged into immediate silence. Donna whirled around took a single, ominous step toward the unfortunate punter who’d made the mistake of calling that out. In the face of her fury, he threw his hands up in surrender as his wife snatched his mobile from him and deleted the video in disgust.

“It’s taken care of, Donna,” she said as she tossed the phone back to her chastised husband. Donna stared hard at the man for a moment longer before she shifted her eyes to his wife.

“Thank you, Susie,” she said cooly, nodding at her before again fixing her husband with a baleful eye. She stepped back into Peter’s embrace, never breaking eye contact until they reached the door. On the threshold, Peter turned back to smirk at the offender over Donna’s head and as they stepped forth into the night, the pub erupted behind them in jeers at the expense of the man who’d made the almost-fatal mistake of offending Donna Noble.

**********

Donna flung the door to her flat open and stumbled inside with Peter close behind. He nudged the door shut with his foot as he fumbled with the buttons on Donna's blouse, growling in frustration at the sheer number of them before giving up and roughly pulling up her top. He pressed Donna back against the wall and palmed her breasts, nipping and licking her neck as he did. "D'ye think they'll still have us at the George after t'night?" he mumbled into her flesh.

"Don't worry, love," she said breathlessly, "I've seen people do far worse under the influence of drink and still be welcomed back. Granted, we'll have to put up with a fair amount of ribbin' about it, but it's worth it." She grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his mouth back up to hers, moaning as their lips met. "Anythin' is worth it for this."

"Aye," he agreed, his tongue slipping past her lips to caress the curves of her mouth. Her mouth was sweet and the beer on both their breaths mingled. His fingers wandered down the valley between her breasts to her trousers, where he undid the button and gingerly lowered the zip; the need to touch her was becoming unbearable. He slipped his right hand inside, and let his fingers wander beneath her knickers.

The combination of the alcohol and arousal in her system made her bold and she sucked at his earlobe before whispering, "Here, Peter. Take me here, against the wall. I want you now," and she ground her hips against his to emphasize her point.

The sound he made in return was somewhere between a groan and a growl and it arrowed straight through her, settling directly between her legs. He withdrew his fingers from their exploration of her hip and began tugging at her trousers. "Want ye, Donna, so, so badly." Donna moaned and dropped her head back against the wall as the room spun. She quickly toed off her shoes and kicked them away as Peter continued to struggle with her trousers.

Donna fumbled with his jumper and succeeded in getting one arm off before she lost her balance and nearly fell over, taking him with her. His arms encircled her before she could drop and she rewarded him with a dazzling, unselfconscious grin. "Maybe, given the circumstances," she giggled, "we'd best save the wall for another day and instead move this to somewhere more...horizontal?" She looked up at him hovering above her and impulsively licked a slow trail up his neck, from clavicle to chin, before sucking his lower lip into her mouth.

Peter finally succeeded in freeing her from her trousers. As she kicked them off, he hooked his thumbs into the sides of her knickers, easing them down her hips, smirking pruriently. "Did ye no tell me once," he said in a low, husky voice as he leaned against the wall, caging her between his arms, "that this was a fantasy of yers?"

"I know what I said earlier," she admitted breathlessly, her fingers twining in his hair as she arched up into him. "But if I do you bodily injury, we won't be able to do this again for quite some time while we heal," she snickered, rolling back slightly to regain her balance.

"Oh, but we'd be confined to bed together," he murmured as he kissed his way back up to her lips.

"They wouldn't let us be in the same room as we convalesce. Too strenuous," she gasped.

At her words, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down to the floor with him as carefully as possible. "Soon, then," he mumbled as he he captured her mouth in a kiss and used his free hand to work his belt loose.

She inhaled sharply in surprise as he pulled her down to the floor and she slipped her hand into his trousers, whimpering when she made contact with his hot, hard length.

Peter’s breath hitched at her touch and he moved his lips to her neck, licking and sucking at the point where it joined her shoulder. Neither of them gave it a moment’s thought, but they’d find a large, red mark there the next day.

Donna pressed her thighs together, trying desperately to relieve the aching need he stirred in her just by kissing her and she traced the head of his straining erection through his pants before slipping her hand inside to touch his hot flesh.

“Donna...,” he sighed against her skin, his eyes closed tightly to the feel of her hand curled around his cock. She slowly stroked his shaft and his groans melted her from the inside. Suddenly impatient, she rolled him over and started scrabbling almost frantically at his trousers in an effort to pull them off his lean form.

Peter cooperated fully, shimmying his hips to work his trousers down. He finally raised his bum from the floor and with a cry of triumph, Donna succeeded in dragging them from his body and flinging them across the room. She was giddy and they were giggling madly and she was so, SO glad they came back to her flat instead of his, since he actually had neighbors he would have to face in the lift.

Both of them were naked from the waist down and Donna started work on his partially-unbuttoned collared shirt as he brushed his fingers across her hips, his gaze lingering on the neat thatch of hair just above her folds.

“Ye are beautiful,” he whispered. “All of ye,” he sighed, reaching to stroke her.

She suddenly sobered under his gaze and bit her lip. “In your eyes, love,” she said with a wistful smile. “I wish I were as beautiful as you make me feel.” She put both hands on his chest and leaned into him, kissing him almost apologetically.

Peter stared at her sadly in disbelief. How could she be so blind about herself when she saw the rest of the world so clearly? How could she still doubt his word? “I have an idea,” he blurted without thinking, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he was embarrassed. Too many drinks had passed his lips that night and after this, she was going to think he was some kind of sex pervert.

“Yes, love?” Donna said, puzzled.

“Let's move this to yer bed,” he said quietly, struggling to his feet before helping her to hers.

“I'll follow you anywhere, but that's not a very original idea,” she teased.

“Just wait,” he replied. They moved down the hall to her bedroom, and he flipped the light on and smiled. When Donna saw the way he looked at her mirrored closet doors, it clicked and she smiled bashfully, both wildly excited and terribly afraid of what he might have in mind.

Before he could reconsider his intended course of action and risk her misinterpreting, Peter whirled her around and pressed her to the bed; in full view of the mirrors, he kissed his way down her body. “Watch,” he whispered before burying his face between her legs.

Donna had never really indulged in watching dirty movies- a Mills & Boon was her usual guilty pleasure- but looking at him moving down her body made her reconsider for the future. “Oh, Peter, what you do to me, the way you make me feel,” she breathed, “it's not legal.”

He responded with a swirl of his tongue and a hum of approval, his head swimming with beer and he was so randy, he could barely contain it. He felt his self-control slipping; he wanted to make her come so badly, he wanted to taste her. He felt her thighs tremble under him and he dropped one hand to his cock, wrapping his fingers around his length as he gave himself a few strokes.

Donna moaned under him and lost all sense of propriety as his tongue flitted across her clit. She twined her fingers desperately in his hair and her back arched up under his attentions. “Peter, now! Please, I want you inside me. Don't make me beg!” she cried.

He stilled between her legs, his eyes looking up questioningly at her, uncertain if he should give in: she hadn’t come yet, but he really didn’t want her thinking she had to beg- not tonight. He gave her slick heat a parting kiss before wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve and he wondered then why he was still wearing a shirt. He peeled it off and chucked it off the bed before crawling lithely up the length of Donna's body. "Take this off," he said gruffly, plucking at her shirt.

The dark tone of his voice made her heart catch in her chest and flooded her system with an extra jolt of desire. Donna wanted to tantalize him, to slowly unfasten each button, but something in his eyes warned her that now was not the time. She quickly grabbed the hem of her blouse and pulled it up and off her body in one swift movement before falling back to the bed under him.

"Bra, too," he said in the same tone, seeing how it affected her.

She tried to fumble behind her, cursing whoever thought it wasn't a good idea to manufacture front-fastening bras in her size, and finally succeeded in unhooking it. She loosened it, pulling it roughly from her body before flinging it across the room to join her blouse. 

Peter's eyes lit up at the sight of her bare breasts, and at last he covered her body fully with his. He settled between her legs, one hand stroking teasingly between them. He kissed Donna's neck and whispered in her ear, “Watch me. Watch us.” He nodded towards the mirror. She stared at him before nodding hesitantly. When she turned her head, he pushed into her carefully but quickly, burying himself fully within her, groaning at her tight heat around him.

When Donna faced the mirror at his- request? command?- she couldn't believe what she saw. He trembled as he thrust into her and the combination of his cock filling her, his groans in her ears and the sight of him so far gone in his desire for her overwhelmed her. She clutched at his arms and cried out, “Peter, oh yes, love, I'm so close...."

Peter propped himself up on his arms, looking down at her as she gazed into the mirror. He could almost feel her eyes passing over him, and it set his skin to tingling: he wondered if she enjoyed the dips and curves of his body as much as he enjoyed hers. He wondered if she liked the way he moved against her and into her and when she called out to him, he increased his pace. He looked down at her face and her exposed neck and the surge of love and lust that overtook him, threatening to overpower him, was impossible to describe. He wanted her to see it so badly. Sometimes, he doubted that she saw it when she looked him directly in the eye, and he prayed for her to see it now.

As she watched him watching her, it was suddenly all too much for her to process at once and she closed her eyes. “Peter,” she groaned, tears making their escape down her face and into her hair, “you're everything I've ever wanted. I've been looking for you my whole life.” She turned back to the mirror once more and was startled at what she saw. She grinned wildly then, understanding flaring in her mind- it didn't matter how the rest of the world saw her: he found her beautiful, so she was. She began to laugh and cry and clutch at him desperately as her orgasm washed over her.

As her body gave in to the pleasure, so did his; Peter's rhythm fell apart as he emptied himself into her. He cried out before collapsing into her arms, held tight in her embrace. “Donna, I really do love ye. With everythin' I am. Please see that; please know it's true. Please...please...please....” He was nearly whispering, only faintly remembering that he didn’t allow himself to drink as much as he had very often because it turned him into a right soppy git, but the words were true, so he allowed them.

Donna was smiling so much, she knew her face would hurt later, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she loved the man in her arms and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he truly loved her in turn. "Peter, I love you, now and always and I want to spend the rest of my life showin' you just how much,” she breathed. “Policeman, don't ever doubt that. Don't ever leave me, please. I couldn't bear it. It would kill me after havin’ this with you.” She closed her eyes and Peter felt her shudder beneath him.

He pulled back to cup her face. “Hey, none o' that, I'm not goin' anywhere, eh? I'm right here.” He smiled, realizing that it was all so true, and that he was actually still inside of her. These were some of the moments he loved most; when their brains were swimming with chemicals in the aftermath of their passion, and he thought that this was the closest they could ever be, and it warmed his heart.

“Oh, Peter,” Donna said, “if this is what happens when we drink too much and almost get thrown out of our pub, how are we ever gonna learn to behave in public?” She sighed in mock-tragedy and he laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. In return, she lightly raked her nails down his back and wondered if the silly grin she was wearing- the only thing she was wearing- would ever fade.

“Weeelllll, I think....,” he drawled, nipping at her neck to watch her squirm, “I think next time we shouldnae start snoggin' in front of a large window.” He rolled off her and propped his head up on one arm as he traced her cheek with a finger of the opposite hand. “Instead, maybe I'll steal ye away to the lavs,” he teased as he arched a brow playfully.

Donna’s eyes went wide at the idea and she slapped at his shoulder. “In the loo?!?” she gasped, outraged. “Now, that would get us booted from the George, and maybe for good!”

“Only if we got caught,” he said, beaming as he bent to kiss her neck.

“And besides, I am NOT going in the men’s room with you,” she muttered, crossing her arms and looking at him askance.

“That’s fine and dandy,” he replied. “I was plannin’ on followin’ ye, anyway.” Her horrified expression was enough to make him flop back on the bed and laugh until he cried. 

“And how would it look, Detective Inspector,” she asked pointedly when he finally was able to breathe again, “when the arrestin' officers came to collect us and you knew them by name?”

“They’d take one look at ye and pin a medal on my chest,” he said smugly. “It’d do wonders for my reputation. Though it probably wouldn’t do anythin’ to dispel the other rumor floatin’ about concernin’ me.” He scratched absently at his cheek at her silence: he knew she was waiting for him to continue.

“Well, ye haven't’ been seen by the gits I work with in person yet, and I dinnae have any pictures of us on my desk or anythin’, so some of them suspect I’ve either made ye up or yer a cover for other ... activities,” he admitted, passing on some of the gossip he’d gleaned from his lunch with Ian. “It’s ok,” he said with a dismissive nod. When she didn’t respond, he explained, “Honestly, though, I'd rather have them thinkin’ I like men than the other rumor.”

She cocked her head to the side, biting her lip and trying to figure out for herself what the other rumor might possibly be. Finally conceding defeat, she raised her eyebrows and asked, “Which is....?”

“They think I got transferred because I was shaggin’ my DCI's wife,” he admitted with rueful smile. “Which is categorically untrue,” he added hastily as her eyes grew wide.

“Oh, Detective Inspector Carlisle, the things I find out about you while you're under the influence..,” Donna gasped. dissolving in peals of laughter before snuggling into his side. “That rumor I could have believed.” She lowered her voice and breathed against his neck as she trailed kisses across his shoulder. “We must do this more often...”

He curled his arm around her and pulled her closer to press a kiss into her hair. “Aye. Ye do know that ye donae have to get me pissed to find out about me, right? Ye can just ask,” he said quietly. “I'll tell ye an'thin' ye want to know.”

Her heart leapt at his words and again, for the third time that night, he made her cry. She was happier than she had ever been in this world, and for once, everything was right in her universe. She prayed he felt the same way. “Peter, I want to spend the rest of my life gettin’ to know you, pissed or not. I love you and nothin’ will ever change that. I want to make you happy.” She gently stroked his cheek and pushed his hair back ot of his eyes before adding, “And I’d be more than pleased to make a personal appearance, just to dispel any rumors, if you like.”

He turned and kissed her hand before answering, “Only if ye want to,” as he settled back gratefully in her bed.

Donna was getting comfortable and sleepy now, but she knew she had to act before it was too late. “Now, you can lie here another 5 minutes with me before we have to get up.” When he looked at her, puzzled and maybe a bit hurt, she explained. “I know- from happy experience- what you like to do when you first wake up, and based on what we've indulged in this evenin’, it's imperative that we get water both into us and onto us. In short order, we're gonna need a hot shower and a cool drink. So let's get movin’, mister, before we both get too comfortable to care.” When Peter made a show of rolling his eyes dramatically before closing them, she poked him in the ribs- hard. “And no grousin’- you'll thank me in the mornin’... “

He yelped, rubbing the spot where she’d assaulted him gingerly and threw her a salute. “Aye, Cap’n, whatever you say.” When she nodded as if he’s only given her what was due, he decided that he could get used to the the rhythms of their relationship, especially their easy give-and-take. Donna was careful and respectful of his ideas and opinions, but no one would ever mistake her for a shrinking violet. If there was something he needed to hear, he could count on her to say it, like it or no. She was a force of nature without being forceful, and he knew she would listen, willing to be persuaded, as long as no one mistook her for a pushover. It was way too early in their relationship to act on the idea he was beginning to entertain, but maybe he could... someday ... ask Donna...

His reverie was rudely interrupted by another jab to the ribs. “Now, mister. Get movin’.”

Peter grumbled at the thought of getting out of the nice warm bed and dreaded the idea of a shower, but he knew she had a point. “Aye. Can we...shower together? It's environmentally responsible, y'know,” he asked hopefully, remembering her modest shower and waggling his eyebrows at her.

“We could...,” she replied, thoughtfully, “or we could take a bath. A long, comfortable soak... Wait, you've never seen my tub, have you?”

He quirked an eyebrow at the thought. “No, I havenae. I donae remember seein’ a tub in the loo, just a small shower...” he admitted as she rolled out of bed and pulled him along with her. He loved the mischievous light in her eyes as she moved behind him to push him, naked and laughing, along down her hallway.

“Well, when I bought this buildin’, I left almost everything as is- I bought it because I liked it this way- everythin’ except the bathroom. I must admit, I have a weakness for luxury in the bath and I...indulged myself.” She stopped short of the door that led to the loo, her hand resting on the doorknob to what he had assumed was a spare bedroom. “I'm right proud of it, but it's not the kind of thing you share with strangers or even casual friends. How would that sound? ‘ _Come over and take a look at my bath, won’t you?’_ ” she said in an exaggerated tone of voice. “I'd sound barmy, wouldn't I? But you. Well, that's different. Come to think of it, other than the workmen and my Gramps, you'll be the first to see it.” She turned the knob and pushed open the door. “You're gonna love this,” she promised, pulling him inside before she flicked on the lights. “I know it's over the top, but like I said, it's my indulgence.”

“We all have at least one of those,” he said guiltily, mentally referring to the multitude of sweets in his flat, and the lollies in his pockets and the rest of his admission died in his throat as he took in the opulence before him. Her bathroom was easily twice the size of her bedroom and the top two rows of bricks along the back wall had been removed and replaced with glass blocks to let in the light from outside. She turned to him, her eyes dancing as a shy smile played about her lips.

“I think I've found another reason for them to call ye the Red Queen,” he breathed as he looked around. “Donna...this is...great.” The tub- if you could call something the size of a small indoor swimming pool a tub- featured a faucet and spout that cascaded water in a huge sheet into the middle of the bath. Behind it was a glass shower stall with three shower heads at various heights and a handheld shower head on a long hose. “This is just...lovely.”

“I told you I had a Bath Room, and this is it,” she admitted. “It’s not for everyday use, just when I need a spa day, some ‘me time’ alone from the world. Originally, it was to be a couple of spare bedrooms but I decided I was havin‘ none of that on this floor. The guest rooms are going to be upstairs when I have them finished out. Just one of the perks of being your own landlord,” she said.

“That's quite...posh,” he replied with a wink. “Separate rooms and all.” He paused for a moment, mentally replaying her last words. “Wait...ye own this buildin'?” he blurted out before he could stop. He wanted to smack himself; of course she did.

“You didn't know?” she asked, surprised.

“No, I think ye mentioned it before,” he said, awkwardly pulling at his ear, “but I didnae remember.” She didn’t spend all her time talking about her money, thankfully, so he often forgot.

She lifted an eyebrow in surprise and fixed him with a disbelieving stare. “You. Forgot?” She shook her head, her ginger curls bouncing about her face.

“What, ye think I was riflin' through your financial statements when I was tryin' to learn about ye?” he said, hand to his chest as he gave her a look of mock offense. “I just wanted to see if ye knew anythin' about my case, and maybe learn enough to chat ye up...I wasn't tryin' to see if you paid yer tax or no,” he finished with a giggle.

“And here I thought you were after me for my money,” she said playfully. “And I know you did look up at least some of my finances when you first set about helpin' me find out about my past.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand. “I don't mind. I know you were only doin’ what I asked. Besides, winnin’ a triple rollover does tend to make the news and all.”

“Aye, but remember, I wasnae in London at the time. Good news doesnae tend to travel that far north; only bad news. Bad news that reminds the citizens of Kendal why they dinnae want to live in London...,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “So I only know what ye've told me and no much more than that.”

Donna grinned at his cheek. “Well, I don't really have that much left, anyway. I split it with Shaun when we divorced- it was only fair, after the hell I'd put him through- and I gave a chunk to my Mum and Gramps, then bought this buildin’. The travel agency downstairs had always gone the extra mile for me when I was not so well off, and they were in danger of goin’ under, so I bought the buildin’ and reduced their rent.” She moved over to the tub and started the water, testing the temperature before turning back to him. She held out an open bottle for him to sniff, and he nodded before she added a few capfuls to the bath.

“I made some modest investments- I seem to have a talent for pickin’ stocks at their lowest, just before they start trendin’ up- and I set up a trust for myself so I don't have to work, if I don't want to, but I usually do just to stay busy,” she said, reaching out a hand to him to invite him into the bath with her.

He smiled at her as she prepared the bath and acted as if her kindness and work ethic were nothing at all. It made his heart ache, but at the same time, it was part of what made him love her. She didn't do kind things so she could tell everyone she'd done them, or get her name on a plaque: she did them because they were kind things to do. He sank into the warm water and reached up  
for her to join him.

“And you know, the taxes are unreal, so between all that and the bit I gave away to charity, I'm not filthy rich, just....very comfortable,” she finished as she settled down into the water, between his legs once more, and sighed happily.

“And even more comfortable when we're in here and I'm rubbing yer shoulders,” he said quietly, his hands massaging her back as she reflexively gripped his leg. “Just relax.”

“I think ... your actions and ... your words ... are at cross-purposes, there, Policeman,” she muttered through gritted teeth as his strong hands drifted across her bare skin. “If your goal is to get me to relax...,” she gasped, “seriously, you’re goin‘ about it all wrong.”

He chuckled behind her but showed no signs of stopping and Donna abruptly asked, “Can you swim?”

“Yes,” he answered, slowing but not ceasing his actions. He waited for her to continue; when she didn’t, his curiosity got the better of him and he finally asked, “Why?”

She turned then, on her knees, her breasts just below the surface of the water and took hold of his legs. She pulled him suddenly towards her and just before his head went under, he heard her say, “ ‘Cos I don’t want you drownin’ on me, of course...”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna Noble was at war with herself and losing badly. Or maybe she was winning: she couldn’t tell any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.

**Friday, 25 May 2012, 6:15 PM**

Donna Noble was at war with herself and losing badly. Or maybe she was winning: she couldn’t tell any more. Her mobile lay in the middle of her kitchen island and she stood staring at it, fighting the impulse to snatch it up and call Peter Carlisle. She had seen him three nights just this week, had spoken to him at least once every day and now she was worried that he might begin to feel stifled by her attentions. Granted, they had exchanged those three little words- and she knew he’d meant it, at least at the time he’d said it; but, well...it had been just after some amazingly spectacular sex. He had told her again after almost being caught at the George, but they’d both been more than a bit tipsy, and she didn’t want to take him at his word since it could have just been the alcohol talking. Then again... he had actually called her three times out of five this week, and had suggested they meet twice; but still. It wouldn’t do for her to pursue him further than she already had ...would it?

She chewed nervously at her thumb, contemplating her course of action. He actually seemed to like it when she called. She remembered how his voice would drop from the terse, professional tones he used when answering a call into a deeper, richer timbre when he recognized her voice on the other end of the line. _Maybe it would be OK to call him just once more_ , she thought as she hesitantly reached for the phone and she squeaked in surprise when it rang in her hand, almost dropping it. She smiled as she thumbed the screen and answered the call. "Hello, Policeman.”

“Hello, yerself,” Peter replied and she could all but hear the smile in his voice. “So, what's in the works for this evenin'? Got anythin' we need to do or are we free?”

Donna found herself grinning at his question- _We. He said We_. He actually expected to spend the evening with her, without prompting or begging or anything. She did a tiny, impromptu Happy Dance and fought back a delighted giggle before answering him as casually as she could. “No, nothin’ I have to do. You?”

“Oh, I'm done until Monday. Just filled in the last of my weekly forms and put them on my DCI's desk. What’s the plan?” he asked hopefully. He had a few things planned for this evening himself and was hoping Donna would be amenable to his suggestions. 

"WeeellllI," she drawled, "it’s actin’ as though it might rain, so I was gettin' ready to call for take away from Turnham Green- gonna get those summer rolls you liked and I could put in for a double order of the Yum Ta Lay- I noticed you eyein’ my plate last time..."

His appreciative hum turned to a snort of laughter and she added, "You’re not the only observant one in this relationship , ya know..." She blushed at her slip but blustered on. "Other than that? I just plan on enjoyin' some time with you, whatever you want to do."

"How does this sound? I'm already out and about so ye just call it in, I'll pick up dinner and meet ye at yers,” he offered. "Should be in the neighborhood in maybe, ten minutes?"

"Oh, that sounds lovely, Policeman," she said happily. "I'll make the call and have everythin’ ready when you get here."

***************

Peter was perched on a stool at Donna's kitchen island, sucking languorously on his spoon. "Mango ice cream? Why did we no have mango ice cream the first time we went there?" he asked, reluctantly dragging the spoon from his mouth. He noticed a melted droplet left on the handle of the spoon and his tongue darted out to collect it, eyes closed and enraptured. "D'ye think they're still open? I could pop over and..." He stopped short as he opened his eyes and found her standing before him, watching him eat and biting her lip, her own ice cream forgotten and dripping from her spoon. He smiled and slowly ran his tongue first across his upper lip and then back across his teeth, raising his eyebrows and leaning across the table on one elbow. He fixed Donna with a smoldering stare and purred, "Ye plannin' on finishin' that, missy?"

“Wha...?” she stammered before she recovered her senses. “No, no, it’s all yours,” she continued, placing her bowl on the counter and pushing it numbly towards him. She removed her spoon and stood entranced as he reached deliberately across the table to take hold of her hand. He guided her spoon to his lips and parted them just enough to suck in the melted ice cream pooled there, enjoying her stunned expression. She held her breath as he turned her hand over and pushed the bowl of the spoon completely into his mouth, only remembering to breathe again when he slowly dragged it back out, releasing the spoon with an audible pop.

Donna had noticed that Peter’s accent seemed more pronounced when he was relaxed and away from work, but now, she was almost positive he was using it to gauge it’s effect on her. Well, it certainly was effective, she decided, especially when coupled with his warm breath on her hand as he kissed it and caressed her wrist with his thumb. He took the spoon from her limp grasp and placed it carefully on the table, never breaking eye contact as he turned her hand in his. He traced over her fingers and the lines of her palm, barely brushing his long, elegant fingers over her skin and when he found a bit of ice cream, just below her index finger, he drew her hand to his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, licking and sucking until it was clean. It was the single most erotic bit of foreplay Donna had ever experienced and she was stunned into silence even as her heart raced uncontrollably and her blood sang in her veins. And she knew, beyond a doubt, that the sexy bastard knew it.

When he pulled back, she could only dumbly stare at the spot where his lips had just been, and he smiled. “We could share, ye know,” he offered, as he slipped a finger into her bowl.

“All right,” she breathed and swallowed as the tip of his finger disappeared between those luscious lips again. He stood and closed the space between them, dipping his finger back into the bowl once more. Peter caught her about the waist and pulled her close before gingerly painting her lips with the melted confection and then bending to kiss them clean. Mango-flavored kisses, she thought and Donna now had a new favorite fruit. She knew she'd never be able to eat another without thinking of him.

Her breathing faltered and she swayed, off-balance, in his arms before steadying herself against his chest. "So what now?" she asked in a daze.

“We could go out. After all, we havenae been back to the George as of yet,” he grinned, bending to kiss her neck in the spot he’d discovered that she liked so well. When she shuddered in his embrace, he pulled her even closer, trailing his fingertips up her bare arms. “Or we could stay in,” he finished, smiling and leaning in close, his breath ghosting over her ear.

“I vote for in,” she decided at once. “In the living room, in the bathroom, in the kitchen,” she murmured, punctuating each phrase with a kiss, “and in the garden.“ Her hands tangled in his hair of their own accord and her eyes fluttered closed as he bent to lick his way down her neck.

“Oh, that’s a bit dangerous, do ye no think?” he said with a smirk. “Yer neighbors, they couldnae see but could hear...,” he continued before she pulled his mouth back down to hers.

“I can be very quiet...,” Donna whispered as she released him, and slapped his arm when he raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“That IS a challenge,” he admitted, grinning at her as he felt his trousers tighten, “but best left until the weather is a bit more accommodatin’, eh? But in the here and now, where shall we start tonight?”

Donna pushed his chest gently with one finger, walking him backwards. “How. About. Here?” she suggested with a kiss and a step between each word. When his back was almost against her dining room wall, she reached down to cup Peter gently through his trousers and grinned wickedly when it was he who sucked in a breath for a change.

Peter took her by the shoulders and growled, “Oh, I like the way ye think, Miss Noble,” as he captured her mouth in a kiss, slipping his tongue between her lips.

Donna broke the kiss reluctantly and stood up on tiptoe. “Well, then,” she whispered, licking up his neck to his ear and biting it gently, “leave the thinkin’ to me and just relax.”

He hummed his assent, his breath already growing shaky and moaned faintly as Donna pressed herself to him. Her arousal was making her fearless and wanton and besides, turnabout was only fair play. Trailing a finger along the length of his hardening cock, she breathed into his ear. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are? I can't keep my hands off you: I can't stop thinkin’ about you.”

Donna's touch was electric and Peter groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall. As he surrendered to the sensations she was creating, she began rubbing him a bit harder. “And the fact that you'll let me take the lead sometimes is unbelievably hot,” she said, kissing him deeply while thumbing open the button on his trousers. “You can't possibly know how much I want you. Peter, you're so terribly beautiful that it almost hurts,” she sighed, tugging him closer by the waistband. “I want you to know just how beautiful you are.”

“Uhng, Donna...oh,” Peter ground out, his voice trembling, and he tried to fight the urge to push against her hand. He clenched his jaw and hissed in pleasure as she unzipped his trousers and wrapped her arms around his waist, slipping her fingertips into the back of his pants against his bare skin. He lifted his hips away from the wall and she eased his trousers down as he barely remembered to toe off his shoes. “Donna, what are ye...?”

“Shhh, love,” she whispered, a finger pressed to his lips. “I want to worship you. You're so good to me, it's my turn to be good to you.” She pushed him gently back so that he had to lean against the wall for support. He started to protest weakly, thinking that he knew what she had planned; he wanted to be a gentleman, but he also wanted to give in to her. Donna unbuttoned Peter's shirt, biting her lip as she did, then pulled back slightly so that he could watch her unbutton her own blouse. Peter’s eyes widened as he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra and he shifted his stance and only just checked his impulse to lay her back against her own dining room table. “Stop fightin’ me, Policeman,‘ she said earnestly. “I want this. Please, just this once?” She leaned in to brush her bare breasts against his chest as she kissed his shuddering lips.

He slipped his hands forward and gently squeezed her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples. “Anythin’ for ye, Donna,” he promised.

Donna smiled: she had won and she was going to enjoy her prize. Her breath hitched at his touch, but she pulled away slightly out of his reach. “No, no, no, love. If you do that now, I won't be able to think. In a little while, yeah? I’ll tell you when?” she pleaded, tilting her head and looking at him.

He bit his lip and nodded, clenching his jaw with the effort it took him not to lunge at her and take her on the floor; he knew the dimples in his cheeks were standing out. His cock twitched in his pants at the thought of her writhing beneath him and he dug his nails into his palms to help him focus, to regain control.

Donna saw the slight tremor in his thighs as Peter restrained himself and it made her insides quiver. _Discipline_ , she thought, _oh, discipline, or I’ll never be able to finish what I have planned_. She reached down to the waistband on her own pants and unbuttoned them, pulling on each side to slide the zipper down painfully slowly. She waited for his reaction, wanting to see his eyes when he realized she hadn’t been wearing any undergarments at all.

Peter watched her hands, panting slightly, following them down the length of her body, and when she unfastened her trousers, he saw a hint of her curls peeking from the zip. His eyes went wide, and he swallowed hard before growling low in his throat, “Donna...”

“I told you, Policeman, that I’d have everythin’ ready when you got here,” Donna smiled and she looked Peter up and down slowly, letting her eyes rest on his face, enjoying the look of desire in his eyes. She shimmied her trousers down her hips slowly, then let them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them and then made as if to stoop and pick them up. Instead, she turned and leaned her naked arse up against Peter and dragged herself upright against him.

He ground out a low moan from behind his clenched teeth and reached for her hips. He gripped them a moment, crushing himself against her, but he thought better of it and let her go. She wanted to have her way, and he was going to let her, even if it killed him: he was beginning to think it just might.

She was teasing him, she knew, but when he finally did lose control, Donna knew it would be worth it. She turned against him so that her naked body was pressed up the length of his partially clothed form. “Peter, I want to know everythin’ about you. I want to know what makes you sigh in bed, what makes you arch your back, what makes you tremble, and what pushes you over the edge. I want all of you. Is that all right?” When he nodded, she looked straight into his eyes. “And I want memories of you in every single room. Do you understand?”

Peter exhaled a shaky breath and tried to collect himself. Every word he tried to say didn’t seem proper, could never be enough, and suddenly all the air in the room disappeared as he realized the implications of her statement. This woman before him, who had lost so much, was asking for his permission. She wanted to rebuild her life and she wanted to start with a foundation based on memories of him. “I want ye, Donna,” he breathed as he reached for her tentatively and stroked her bare hips. “I want a place in yer memories.” He licked his lip and resisted the urge to run his fingers into her curls; no, not yet.

Donna glanced down, worrying her lip between her teeth for a moment and steeling herself before she lost her nerve. “Peter, this is so much more than wantin’ you. Peter, I...I need you,” she kissed his neck and gently eased his pants down his hips, fingers splayed wide to touch him all the while. “More than I've ever needed anyone before.” He groaned against her touch as her soft fingers trailed over his length far too gently. His restraint was stretched nearly to the breaking point; he wondered if this was more than wanting control for her, if maybe she wanted to see him lose himself. He remembered the sight of her splayed out on his kitchen table beneath him and his cock twitched.

“I need ye, Donna. I need ye, too,” he sighed.

Donna tapped one of his legs gently and he obliged, lifting first one foot, then the other so she could remove his pants. She pushed gently at Peter's chest so that he was fully on his back against the cold wall, bracing himself with his legs. She moved carefully between his legs, letting her fingers brush up against his length and her lips quirked into a lopsided smile when his cock bobbed in response. “Not long now, love. I promise. Not long...,” she breathed against his skin as she exhaled slowly.

He made a noise he wondered was undignified at the feel of her fingers on his erection, and this time, he couldn’t help himself. He bucked toward her, just slightly and groaned, “Donna...yer hands...yer skin...is so...soft.”

She moved slowly down his body, slithering down his torso, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, always keeping her breasts in contact with his chest. She flushed at the sounds he was making; deep-thoated growls and sighs that went straight between her legs and she knew that she could take him right there and then. “Almost time...”

Peter whimpered at the feel of her skin against his, her hard nipples trailing down his body as she moved. He ran his fingers through her hair, once, twice, resisting the urge to grab it and pull her mouth to his.

“Peter,” she breathed his name against his skin, cupping his balls with one hand and languorously stroking his shaft with the other. “Please, now, tell me what this feels like. Is this what you like? I want you to be as happy as you make me...” she broke off to look up at him and took the head of his cock between her lips. 

Peter’s mind had short-circuited and he tried to make sense, but only succeeded in choking out incoherent phrases. “Donna... that... that is ...oh, that, that, oh, I love that. I love .... mmmm,” he sobbed helplessly. He tried to hold back, tried so hard to be... good... but she was pulling him into her mouth and he felt his mind breaking apart. 

She smiled against him and slowly took his length into her mouth, relaxing her throat so that he was completely in her. Bit by bit, she pulled back and paid special attention to the head of his cock, licking in the swirling pattern he seemed to like, concentrating on the underside and the spot that made his thighs tremble.

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell...,” he gasped out through gritted teeth, and when she took him deep into her throat again, his proper demeanor evaporated. “Fuckin’ hell, Donna, yer mouth on my cock, the little swirls with yer tongue,’ he moaned helplessly. “It’s so amazin'...” His fingers flexed against the wall as his head tipped back and his knees were turning to jelly.

When he started to curse, she knew he was close to the breaking point. His eyes were screwed shut in pleasure and his head thrown back against the wall and she was almost ready to bring him to completion. "Peter, look at me, please. I want to see you when it happens.”

He growled at the loss of suction, and was almost afraid to look at her, embarrassed by his filthy language. Slowly he brought his eyes down to meet hers. They flicked to her mouth and back to her eyes again. “Donna...please, donae stop,” he begged. 

She leaned back in and Peter cursed and pressed his tongue to his teeth as her mouth closed around him. It was time now and she increased the pace she had set with her mouth and her tongue. Peter's brain was turning to mush under her ministrations, and he buried both hands deeply in her hair, feeling her locks between his fingers as he clutched weakly at them. He thrust into her mouth... gently... carefully... and every forward motion made something coil deep inside him. “Ohhhh, Donna...” He didn’t have the words and couldn't bring himself to say them if he did, but what she was doing to him, to his body; it was so much and it ripped another sob from his throat.

She wanted to taste him, to feel him pulse and throb in her mouth when he came and she knew he was close. His fingers in her hair made her want to scream: he was being so gentle, when she knew all he wanted was to throw her to the floor and bury his cock inside her. She was ashamed of how much she wanted that, too, but this was important to her. Donna wanted this to be all about him. She wanted to worship him and make him feel as special as he made her feel. She wanted him to know she... loved him? A true and proper love, not just words? Of course she did. _I love Peter_ , she though, _with all my heart and soul_.

“Donna...” he begged, shuddering her name: all it would take was one more twist and twirl of her tongue... He was still thrusting into her mouth, desperately, carefully and he felt like the dam was about to break. “Donna... Donna, I'm gonna... ,” he struggled to warn her, but she wasn’t stopping, and there was no way to hold back any longer.

Donna smiled against him, at the desperate tone of his voice: it was time. She relaxed her throat and readied herself for him. God, she thought, and the sounds he made were going to make her climax right there and then. She loved the fact that she could make him come apart at the seams, this proper and intense Detective Inspector, and she loved him even more.

Peter wanted so badly to say those three words again, but he couldn’t: not now. He wanted her to know that he really meant it when he said it and so he stopped those three words in his throat. He needed to tell her, but didn’t want her to think that he was only saying it because of that thing she was doing with her tongue.

On her knees before him, Donna angled her head slightly so she could see his face. She slowed her pace as Peter came deep in her throat and she watched the play of sensations across his face. He was beautiful all the time, but never more so then when lost in the throes of passion. She loved knowing that she did this to him, that her hands and her mouth and her breasts were enough to make him tremble and moan. She felt him slip slightly against the wall and suddenly she was ashamed of herself for making this so awkward for him.

“Peter, oh Peter, I'm sorry!” she cried, reaching up to help support him. “I should have thought about you bein’ up against the wall for that length of time! Are you alright, love?”

He sighed breathlessly, struggling for air. “Wall?” he panted, “What wall?” There was a blissed-out smile creeping across his face as he dropped to his knees in front of her. His orgasm was fading, but his body was still electrified.

“I just got a bit carried away,” she explained, looking down, embarrassed. “I wanted you know how happy you make me,” she continued and he framed her face with his hands before pulling her mouth to his in a deep, desperate kiss. Donna melted at his touch, molding herself to his body, knowing he could taste himself on her lips and it was enough to make her moan. _God, how to tell him I love him again without him thinking that it’s only the sex that making me say it?_ The sex was brilliant- bloody, bloody brilliant, in fact- but they could never touch again and Donna would still love him, utterly and completely. But it was far too early to contemplate telling him exactly how deeply she felt for him and far too late to stop the emotions.

Peter eased her back until he was on the floor on top of her. He reached a hand up to stroke her cheek. “Donna, I...I love ye,” and his voice broke just a bit as he looked into her eyes; he felt like he could fall into them and be lost forever. “So much. I cannae even begin to think what my life would be now, without ye...”

Donna felt her heart leap in her chest at his words and she searched his eyes, not yet daring to believe he could really mean it, not the way it sounded. She bit her lip and felt hot tears form that she quickly tried to blink away before he noticed. “I love you, more than you can possibly ever know. Peter, you're the best thing... I...” She wept openly then and sobs wracked her as she clung to him. “I look at you, and I feel like I'm comin' home.” She bowed her head and looked away, not exactly sure of what she’d just said, but meaning every single word nonetheless. When she looked back up and saw his expression, she realized he loved her, too- honestly, properly and completely. She sobbed in his arms, stunned by the enormity of it all.

“Don't cry, eh? It's good, the two of us,” he murmured, kissing her again, trailing his lips down her jaw, to her neck, moving to her chest. She smiled and wanted to laugh when his hair trailed across her face. He knew it was tickling her neck and that she liked it as he caressed her, stroking her breasts. Her smile turned into an open-mouthed sigh as his mouth, his lovely, lovely mouth closed on her nipple and she was already so hot and wet for him.

Slowly, languidly, his lips worked their way down her form; he was eager for his turn. “No, no, no, Peter, you don't have to do ...... that.... “ she finished weakly as his lips left a fiery trail in their travels down her body.

He paused above her, his breath warm against her folds. “I want to, Donna. I told ye, I want ye. I want to taste ye,” he breathed. He leaned down and propped himself on his elbows, spreading her folds with his thumbs, and ever-so-delicately, he ran his tongue from her entrance to the top of her clit.

She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was only a hairs-breadth away from coming when she heard the want in his voice. She felt his breath, still ragged from his own climax, against her sex and when he danced his tongue across her, rational thought abandoned her completely. Her back arched her up and into him automatically and she all but screamed his name. She would flush later as she remembered her reaction, but she really had no choice in the matter, not when his talented tongue was busy on her body. Her universe collapsed into just her and his tongue and - dear Lord, was her orgasm supposed to last that long when he had just gotten started?

Spurred on by the sounds of her pleasure, Peter pushed further into her, delving his tongue into her, tasting her, nuzzling at her clit with his nose as he moved. Finally, he curled his lips around her clit and sucked gently before pressing his tongue firmly against her, swirling it as he hummed his own satisfaction against her tender flesh. 

Donna remembered that the purpose of speaking was to make sounds that coalesced into words, but her brain had shorted out and all she was capable of uttering were inarticulate cries. He was still working his tongue against her when he slipped two fingers in, thrusting them in and out, curling them experimentally, seeking out her most sensitive places. The world went blindingly white and Donna held her breath as wave after wave of pleasure engulfed her. Just when she was afraid she couldn’t withstand any more, another powerful climax rolled through her and she threw back her head, hair flying around her in a fiery halo. 

He laved at her as her orgasm subsided, trying to ease her down, and when she finally collapsed, boneless and breathless to the floor, he pulled back and looked up the length of her body. He couldn't suppress his smug smile, not with his male pride burgeoning and the sounds of her climax still bouncing around his brain.

When rational thought did bother to return, all she could think was that there'd be no living with him now and his satisfied smirk confirmed her suspicions. He was as good as he thought he was at this. What he didn't know, and Donna would never, ever tell him, was that he was better. He was brilliant, at everything, and as she played with his sweat-soaked hair, her smile broke into a grin as she realized he was all hers.

He- as discreetly as possible- wiped his chin before nibbling mischievously on her hip just to hear her startled squeak. He smiled at her as he crept back up her form, leaving kisses in his wake as he moved up her body. "Ye taste wonderful," he nearly whispered against her skin, suddenly shy and worried that he was being indecent. As he shifted to lay beside her, Donna rolled her eyes to the heavens- after all they had done just now, and he was acting bashful? She was suddenly aware of the fact that they were both curled up together, lying naked on the floor of her dining room and she couldn't suppress a giggle at the thought.

"Peter, love, I wanted to say something about us eatin’ out next time, but every phrasin’ I could think of ended up soundin’ like I'm propositioning you again..," Donna admitted, laughing in spite of herself as she snuggled up to his side and rested her chin on his chest. 

He laughed then, looking very pleased with himself. "I'll take that as a compliment,” he said with a wink. “So, that's the kitchen of mine, the dining room and the living room of yers and the bedrooms of both we've covered, eh?" he mused, making a tally of the the rooms with his free hand. "Oh, and yer bathtub,' he added quickly. "That counts as it's own room, apart from the shower. We'll be needin' to take care of that at a future date." 

Donna pursed her lips thoughtfully and said, "Hmmm, at this rate, we'll have christened every room by the middle of next week. And I thought my flat was too big for just me...," she trailed off then, afraid he might misinterpret the statement.

He quirked an eyebrow before venturing, "Been christenin' them yerself, have ye?" 

She laughed as his accent receded slightly, confirming her earlier suppositions. She was relieved that although he did misinterpret her words, it wasn't in the way she'd feared. "No, but the way you say that, I'm wonderin' if I've just given you evil ideas," she teased, kissing his jaw and running her tongue through the tiny, tiny cleft in his chin. The thought of her touching herself fluttered through his mind for a moment, causing a mischievous grin to pull at his lips. When his only response was to hum contentedly at the feel of her mouth at his jaw, she murmured, "I'll take that silence as your confession."

Donna turned suddenly serious, pulling back from him just enough to see his face clearly. "Peter, please, please don't misinterpret what I'm about to say, because this is perfect, absolutely brilliant." She reached up with her left hand to touch his cheek. "but next time, can we go somewhere properly? I'm so, so happy and this is beyond fantastic, really, but I...," she paused, a little embarrassed and searching for the right words. "I want to show you off. I want the world to see that we're together. I want every woman we pass in the streets to groan because you're with me and not them. And most of all," she finally admitted, "I want my friend Nerys to curl up and die with envy." 

Peter grinned at her admission and kissed her before replying, "And you think I donae want to show you off as well?." He paused for a moment, considering. He wanted to ask her to meeting Ian and Alec and the rest of his coworkers at their regular pub night. He’d recently resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to go at least some of the time when invited, but was afraid she’d think he was being a bit presumptuous to expect her to accompany him regularly, this soon in their relationship. Instead, he said, "We still havenae managed to meet up with yer friend for dinner. Why don't ye try again, invite friend Nerys out for a double date this time?" he suggested.

"Oh, Lord, wouldn't that put her knickers in a twist!" Donna crowed, rolling over.

"For ye, I'll even clean up nicely, make her extra green," he offered as he drew lazy circles on her hip. 

“Oi! What do you mean, 'clean up'!?!” she cried, batting at his chest in outrage. “You don't change one single thing, you hear me! I love you just as is and that is that.” She paused for a moment and then she grinned. She’d said it again, told him that she loved him, and it got easier every time. Her elation threatened to burble up and out of her as laughter and she was smiling so much she feared her cheeks might begin to cramp.

“I just meant clean trousers and maybe a shave...” he protested as she trailed a finger across his stubbled chin. “Should I wear a tie? I do have a few nice ties,” he offered.

“Only if we can devise alternative uses for it later,” she replied, sucking on her bottom lip, thinking this time of the sturdy headboard on her bed and a silk tie- his tie- restraining ... someone ... on her bed.

Suddenly, she sobered and glanced away uncertainly. “Are you sure?” she asked him quietly. “About goin' out with Nerys, I mean. She's my friend and all, but she's not what you'd call nice. I'd hate it if she said or did somethin' appallin',” she confessed. She wasn't ready to admit that she'd been the one putting Nerys off after first mentioning the possibility of a meeting and not the other way 'round.

"I wouldnae keep askin’ if I dinnae want to meet her,” he said, guiding her face back to his with a gentle finger along her cheek. “I can put on the ol' Carlisle charm, trust me. And ye think I can't handle a bit of snark? After yer mum?" he asked incredulously and earned himself an embarrassed snort of laughter from her. “Besides, I‘m a professional- I do that for a livin’,” he teased, tickling her a bit. “I can give as well as I get. And after, we can come back here and take care of the kitchen... and then the shower." She giggled and twisted away from his fingers as he waggled his eyebrows at her with a goofy grin. Donna had to look away to stop from laughing aloud- she laughed more in ten minutes with Peter Carlisle than she had in the previous ten months combined. 

“Oh, I know you can take care of yourself, Copper,” she announced with a playful toss of her hair, “but you know what they say, about your friends bein' a reflection on you... I'm afraid of what you'll think of me,” she admitted quietly. 

“At least ye have friends,” he sighed, and Donna felt guilty.

“Peter, I'm your friend,” she said quietly. “And you can make more once you decide to and I'm not monopolizin' all your time. You’ve made a start with Ian, right?” 

He sat up and shrugged before shifting and leaning back against the wall. “I get on with him alright. He’s a good man, his mind and his heart are the right place. And ye- ye do no monopolize my time...there isnae anywhere else I'd rather be.” He opened his arms to invite her to join him and he kissed her cheek when she settled in his embrace. “By nature, I'm no what would be considered an overly social creature.”

Lying comfortably in his arms, she regarded him thoughtfully before replying. “I used to be: I mean I love goin' round to the pub on an evenin’- that's how I met you, after all - but it's better with two, especially if one of the two is you.”

“Then why don't we start doin’ that more regularly?” he asked, before confessing, “I'm rubbish at quiz night, though, I must warn ye.”

She snuggled up against him then and laughed. “That's OK, I'm good enough for both of us,” she bragged. “But for the here and now, how about we both get off this floor? I do actually have some rather lovely living room furniture we could use for lounging purposes...

“Aye,” he smiled, only just realizing how uncomfortable he’d grown and how cold the floor was. “That is a suggestion worthy of immediate action. And to be honest, I'm dead tired now, thanks to ye...and I do mean thanks.”

Donna kissed him once more before rising to her feet, pulling him up after. He smiled as she overcompensated for his mass and staggered back a step before righting herself and coming to rest once more in his arms. Peter pulled her back to his chest, and there it was again: that fleeting notion he'd been entertaining about a future with her that might be more than fleeting, more than a notion. He was terrified by the prospect, and what it would mean, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been just marking time all his life, waiting for her to join him.

He realized suddenly he'd been too quiet for too long when she pulled back from him slightly with a questioning look. “Ye call yer friend Nerys, eh?” he said, rousing himself from his thoughts and kissing her nose, nodding at her. “Set that date, this time make it stick with her?”

She smiled while looking up at him. “Oh, I will. You just watch me. I've been waitin' for this."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna stood before her closet door, weighing her options. She had accepted Peter’s suggestion of a double date with Nerys and her flavor-of-the-month as a way to get to know her friends and she’d even been enthusiastic about it at first, so there was no backing out now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.

**Friday, 1 June 2012 6:10 PM**

Donna stood before her closet door, weighing her options. She had accepted Peter’s suggestion of a double date with Nerys and her flavor-of-the-month as a way to get to know her friends and she’d even been enthusiastic about it at first, so there was no backing out now. She sighed heavily as she changed clothes for the third time before finally settling on a dark green linen blouse that complemented both her skin tone and hair color nicely. It was cut just a bit lower than she usually wore, but it was a warm evening and she knew it was flattering. She pulled on her favorite pair of jeans and a pair of ballet flats and after taking a last appraising glance in the mirror, picked up one of the new books she’d bought on her shopping trip with Nerys to read while she waited for Peter. Two pages in, she heard him as he climbed the stairs and she hurriedly hid her book behind the couch cushions before getting up to greet him. Donna smiled as she saw Peter’s profile in the frosted glass panels that ran the length of her door and opened it just before he rang the bell.

“Hello, Policeman,” Donna purred as she stood in the doorway, “you’re early.” She stepped aside to let him enter and giggled as he leaned in to kiss her.

Peter grinned at Donna as he broke the kiss, and giving her a faintly naughty wink, replied, “Ms. Noble, beautiful as always.”  
Donna scoffed and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Right...,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “We’ve got about an hour to kill before we’re to meet Nerys at the George. Want to go ahead and walk over or kill a bit of time here?” she asked.

“Up to ye, love, but my vote is for stayin’ here,” he replied, moving to embrace her lightly.

Donna bit her lip and wondered if she dare try to change his mind again. “You know, I could always call Nerys and make an excuse...” She looked up at Peter hopefully, adding, ”We could go to the cinema, grab a bite or just stay here tonight? Anything you want.” When Peter leaned back and cocked his head, the better to see her, she finished weakly, “I mean, we’ve been to the George twice this week and I don’t want you gettin’ bored with it already.“

“No,” Peter said firmly. “I want this. I want to meet this Nerys I’ve heard so much about. She’s yer friend, so I should make friends with her.” He tipped her chin up gently and smiled at her encouragingly. “She’ll be a part of my life now as well.” He was a bit disappointed when Donna pointedly looked away and shrugged out of his embrace.

Donna saw the flicker of confusion and disappointment in Peter’s eyes and she quickly tried to cover her faux pas. “Does it look like rain out? Should I fetch an umbrella before we go?” she asked, smiling gently as she reached up to pull his coat from his shoulders.

He paused a moment, puzzling out her reaction before relenting and shrugging out of his coat. “No, no, it’s not necessary,” he replied, handing it to her. “I wore it tonight more out of habit than need. Besides,” he added, reaching out to run a finger gently along the back of her neckline as she hung the garment in the closet. “It would be a crime to cover ye up, lookin‘ as lovely as ye do in this.” 

She turned and smiled, closing the closet door with one hand while batting at his shoulder gently with the other. “Oh, cut it out, you prawn. You just like the color, is all,” she said, before looking away sheepishly.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, sighing as he scratched the back of his neck. “Donna, it’s been quite a while since I’ve been in a serious relationship, but I do know that one of the first dating skills one should master is the ability to accept an honest complement and respond appropriately. May I demonstrate?” Peter asked with a faintly challenging tilt to his head.

“Of course,” she stated bluntly with a confidence she didn’t feel. He took a step closer, reaching out and placing one hand at her waist while gently brushing her hair back from her shoulder with the other.

“When someone says ‘Donna, ye look lovely’,” he began in a playfully pedantic tone, slowly leaning in towards her, “the correct response, especially in the context of a datin'-type situation is to reply, ‘Why, thank ye’ before rewarding the other party - dependin' on the context and the seriousness of the relationship - either with one of yer spectacular smiles or, in the case of a particularly fortunate admirer, a kiss.”

Donna looked down at her feet and laughed, thinking he was laying it on a bit thick, especially for someone like her. “Peter Carlisle,” she challenged, tossing her hair back with a grin, “you do love to say in fifty words somethin’ other people would say in five, don’t you?”

“No, missy, no changin’ the subject,” Peter stated flatly. “I can tell we still need to work on your responses to complements. It’s going to be a vitally important skill for ye to master in the course of our relationship, as I intend to bestow them upon ye as often as ye deserve, which is at a nearly constant rate...’ his voice trailed off as he leaned in for a proper kiss and Donna was suddenly glad they were still in the privacy of her own flat.

“Now, let us attempt this once again, shall we?” Peter said sternly, before relaxing back into a sincere smile. “Donna, ye look lovely.” 

She couldn’t help herself and she broke out into a bashful grin and blushed slightly as she replied, “Thank you,” before leaning in to kiss him.

When they parted, she looked up into his eyes and a wicked thought crossed her mind. She tugged his hand and led him into the living room. “Come on and sit down with me. We’ll talk a bit before we leave for the George.”

Forty-five minutes later, Peter reluctantly started to disengage himself from Donna’s warm embrace. They had curled up together on her couch and swapped stories of the day between kisses and cuddles. “Donna, we need to leave. We’re gonna be late,” he said, his voice trailing off, torn between the obligation to go and the desire to stay.

Donna stretched luxuriously, treating him to a show of pale skin and cleavage and countered his suggestion with a smile. “That’s OK,” she smiled. “I’m enjoyin' this a lot more than a night at the George. Let’s just stay in. I’ll make you some dinner here, or I could call for takeaway?” she suggested, leaning in to brush his ear with a kiss. “And I’ve got another bottle or two put back. We could make a proper evening of it, just the two of us." Her warm breath danced against his neck and he shifted his hips involuntarily in response. She was testing his resolve: if they didn’t leave, and soon, he’d still be here on the couch with her in the morning.

Peter struggled to keep a tremor from his voice and looked at her earnestly. “Dinner here with ye sounds lovely, but another time, eh? We really need to get goin’...” His voice trailed off as she sucked on his earlobe, her hand tangling in his hair to pull him closer. He reached for her again, licking his lips in anticipation. Her kisses were sweet and his determination was beginning to fade, but he made one last-ditch attempt.

“If I didnae know better, Ms. Noble, I would suspect that ye’re attemptin’ to use yer considerably formidable womanly wiles to prevent our departure this evenin’,” he breathed and he knew he'd hit the mark when he felt her stiffen slightly in his arms.

“Would that be a such bad thing?” she asked indignantly. She was trying to work herself up into a tizzy, but Peter could sense that the underlying guilt was putting a damper on her temper. He waited patiently for her mood to pass and she seemed to deflate before his eyes.

“Under normal circumstances, no, I would agree wholeheartedly,” he said simply. “But we have a social engagement to attend to.”

Donna sighed and looked away, avoiding his frank gaze. “It’s really not necessary, you know. Nerys probably isn’t even there. It’s Friday, and she always has problems gettin' a sitter on Fridays,” she said in a rush. “I’ll just text her and make our excuses, shall I?” She reached for her phone even as Peter reached for her hand.

He shifted his position and sat up, turning to her fully, his face solemn. “What is it? Donna, what’s goin' on? Why do ye no want to go?” When she didn’t answer, he pressed further. “Is there somethin' ye need to tell me? Did ye and Nerys have a fallin' out?” 

Donna wriggled in her seat, uneasy and unwilling to talk. “No, no, Peter, no. Nothin' like that,” she finally admitted.

“What is it then?” he persisted. A dismal thought occurred to him and he quietly asked, “Are ye ashamed? Embarrassed?”

Donna reluctantly answered in a small voice, quiet and defeated. “Yeah, a bit,” she admitted and looked up at him through her lashes. She saw hurt and confusion in his eyes and she hastened to clarify, reaching out and cupping his cheek gently. “No! No, not about you, Peter. It’s her. It’s Nerys I’m embarrassed about.” She sighed and flopped back onto the couch. “She’s not exactly... I just don’t want you to... I mean, yes, we’re friends, but sometimes, ..... Oh, you don’t know what I mean.” She slumped forward and put her head in her hands, hiding her face from him. “I just don’t want you to think worse of me on her account.”

Peter listened to the desperate, frustrated stream of words tumbling from her and felt the hitch in his chest lessen. She was worried about what he would think of Nerys, not Nerys’ opinion of him: he was more important to her than someone she’d known for years. With his place in her world somewhat more secure, Peter took her hands in his and looked deeply in her eyes before he spoke.

“Donna, ye’ve nothing to worry about. I’m with you, not her.” At her sustained look of despair, he continued. “Donna, love, the quicker we go, the quicker we can come back, if that’s what ye want. But ye’re worryin’ about things that may not even happen. Besides, she must have some redeemin' qualities or ye wouldnae have made friends with her in the first place, eh?“

Donna sighed, defeated, and pushed herself up off the couch. “I’ll get your coat, then.” 

Peter stood and took her hand in his. “No, love, leave it. I’ll pick it up after,” he offered.

She perked up at that, her eyes dancing and she raised her chin in mock defiance. “So you just naturally assume you’re comin’ back here, then,” she teased, trying for a hint of indignance. “You’re a bit cheeky and presumptuous...” she quirked a smile at him then, totally spoiling the effect. “You’re just lucky I like cheeky and presumptuous- on you, at least.”

“Presumptuous, eh?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow. He brushed a finger gently down her cheek before taking her hand and tugging her towards the door. “I'm not expectin' anythin' more than a lovely evenin' in yer company, Donna. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of having you walk home alone. Once we’re back here, we’ll see what, if anythin', we want to do... for afters?” he said, smiling.

**********

**Friday, 1 June 2012 7:12 PM**

Nerys was staring at the bottom of her third drink and she poked Gary in the arm to get his attention and have him flag down a waitress. As he raised his hand and waved in what he obviously thought was a casual, manly air, Mairead reluctantly came to the table, cocking her hip and looking askance at Nerys, pointedly ignoring Gary’s sly leer.

“What can I bring you, then, Nerys?” Mairead asked wearily, standing well back from the table. Gary had a nasty habit of touching women when he talked to them and she was having none of that. He had apparently read once that a subtle touch during a conversation indicated interest and so had incorporated the practice into his seduction technique. Sadly for him, his idea of subtle and the rest of the world’s definition diverged greatly, and as a result, he just came off as smarmy. 

“The lady will have another Love Potion Number 9, please,” Gary crooned to her and Mairead had to bite back her retort and refrain from asking what Nerys would be having then. She raised her eyebrows at him instead and he added, “Nothin' more for me yet, thanks.” She started to collect the empties from the table, but thought better of getting within his reach. She nodded to Gary and waited until she’d turned around to roll her eyes as she headed for the bar. Lewis was going to regret having playfully offered Nerys that awful concoction last Valentine’s Day: Mairead would see to that personally.

Nerys sighed loudly and looked at her phone for the fifth time. She was unaccustomed to waiting for Donna and her already-limited reserves of patience were running low. Gary was beginning to act a bit bored and she had paid the sitter to watch the twins until morning, but there was something about Donna’s boy toy that bothered her- she was sure she’d seen him before and couldn’t quite place him. Maybe she should have stopped at two drinks before Donna and whatshisname arrived? She lounged back in her chair, considering whether to wait another ten minutes or cut her losses and leave when she heard something she hadn’t heard in years.

Donna laughed loudly as Peter opened the door for her and impulsively swooped in to kiss her on the cheek as they grinned at some shared jest. She blushed and batted gently at his arm when he whispered something else in her ear, and she took his hand, leading him to the Throne Room where Nerys and Gary were already ensconced. Nerys seethed internally when Peter barely spared her a polite glance as they approached the table before returning his attention to Donna.

Nerys took in Donna’s glowing complexion and Peter’s relaxed, easy gait and decided that this would never do. They were too engrossed in each other for Nerys to assume her rightful place as the centre of attention for the evening and that injustice demanded immediate action. As Donna and Peter made their way across the George, Nerys proclaimed loudly, “You two are awfully flushed for just a brisk walk over. Whatever have the pair of you been up to?” Donna frowned slightly at Nerys and glanced at Peter warily. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and gave her an indulgent smile. Since their recent indiscretion, they’d put up with a bit of gentle teasing and knowing looks, but by and large, their impromptu and unintended show was well on its way to becoming just another bit of pub lore among the regulars. Peter was prepared to put Nerys’ comment down to recent pub gossip until she opened her mouth again. “You must have gotten lucky, Donna,” Nerys declared with a contemptuous smile and Peter’s head snapped up to look at her then. She was so pleased to have stolen his attention away from Donna that she missed the sudden, brittle quality to his smile which vanished almost instantly.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Peter answered, reaching across the table to offer his hand to Gary in greeting. “My fault entirely. Peter Carlisle,” he said to Gary as he shook his hand, “and this lovely creature, who has consented to be my date for this evenin’, is Donna Noble.”

Nerys barely contained a snort of derision at his gallantry and folded her arms across her chest in irritation. She gave Peter the once-over, eyes lingering on his jeans-clad form as he pulled back a chair for Donna. Donna accepted the gesture with a tiny smile and as he turned to take his own seat, Nerys got a good view of his bum and reconsidered her earlier judgement. He was prettier than she’d first thought, almost delicate, but in a thoroughly masculine way that made Nerys’s casual appraisal turn predatory.

“I hope we haven’t kept ye waitin' long,” he continued, smiling at Mairead as she snagged a fresh basket of pretzel sticks from the bar and started over of her own accord to take their order.

“Just long enough to get stuffed,” muttered Nerys under her breath as she downed the last of her drink and Donna blanched.

Peter pretended he’d misunderstood and asked Gary casually, “So, ye’ve already eaten out, then?” He blinked innocently as Nerys choked and Gary pounded on her back in concern. Donna’s eyes widened in disbelief: she goggled at Peter, open-mouthed, before she suppressed an embarrassed giggle and looked away.

Gary had missed Nerys’ comment and looked at Peter uncomprehendingly. “Actually, no. We were waitin’ on you. I could go for a nosh-up, myself.”

Mairead overhead the exchange as she approached and smirked knowingly at Peter who maintained a straight face and a calm demeanor.

“Peter, Donna,” she nodded in greeting, placing the basket pointedly in front of them. “Always a pleasure. Your usual, then?” She raised her eyebrows to indicate the status she had just conferred upon them as regulars, and Peter inclined his head in acknowledgement of the honor.

Donna quickly regained her composure and replied, “That would be brilliant, thanks. And on your way back, could you bring us a couple of menus?”

“Of course,” Mairead said, turning back to the bar to fill their order. She held Peter’s gaze as long as possible, favoring him with a grateful smile. He allowed himself a small smirk before he turned his attention back to the table.

**********

Donna sighed miserably. So far, apart from her dreadful greeting, Nerys had been on her best behavior, but from previous experience, Donna knew it wouldn’t last. “The better she seems in the beginning, the worse she always ends up”, thought Donna wryly, especially when Nerys was putting them away as quickly as she was tonight. She focused on surviving this encounter with as little fuss as possible and fidgeted nervously with the small pile of pretzel sticks she’d dumped on the table in front of her.

Ever since Mairead had brought their drinks and grudgingly brought Nerys and Gary a second basket of pretzels while they waited for their meal, Peter had been chatting amiably with Gary as Donna endured Nerys’ havering on and on about the love life of a mutual acquaintance she hadn’t seen in a while. Gary seemed to be a bit of a lad, but relatively personable (which was something new for Nerys) and a bit thick (which wasn’t). Donna prayed that Peter’s attention was focused on Gary so that he was spared the worst of Nerys‘ comments, but she feared that wouldn’t be possible for long. She knew very little got past her DI and, consequently, she wanted to melt into the floor when Nerys continued.

“Veena, I told her,” Nerys whined conspiratorially, “this one’s got money and looks. Who cares where he gets either from? You’ve got to get him thinking of rings, and make it seem like it’s. All. His. Idea.” She slurred slightly, leaning across the table and pointing at Donna, eyebrows raised as she shot an obvious look at Peter, then back to Donna, who tried not to react. “By any means necessary, if you ask me. After all, I told her, you’re not gettin’ any younger and you’re almost past your Sell By date...” Nerys simpered and took a swig of her drink, elbowing Gary again to call for a refill.

 

Peter watched Donna’s hands and every time Nerys said or did something that made her wince, she neatly bisected a pretzel stick between two fingers and a thumb. Trying and failing miserably to hide her discomfort, she shot a look of apology to Peter and he quirked an eyebrow at her, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. She desperately wished she could either speed up time to get them through this unpleasantness or else transport them both away to somewhere- anywhere- else to escape.  
Donna glanced down, looking for another target to vent her frustrations upon and realized that there were no pretzel sticks remaining in her pile long enough to break. She sighed and picked up a few of the victims of her overwrought nerves, preparing to pop them in her mouth when Peter reached under the table and trailed his fingertips lightly over the inside of her thigh, never breaking the flow of conversation he was maintaining with Gary. Her eyes went wide and she had to nod to Nerys to pretend it was a reaction to the steady stream of inane remarks flowing forth from her as she reached under the table to grab his hand. She squeezed his fingers in warning and fought to keep the amusement from her face as he turned his hand in hers and stared tickling her palm instead.

“So, Gary, tell me about yerself,” Peter said pleasantly with a hint of secret laughter in his voice. Donna smiled as she recognized his trademark line of questioning. He would let Gary lay out his life story before him without ever revealing a thing about himself, and at the end of the evening, Gary would leave thinking Peter was the greatest conversationalist he’d ever met. 

“Well, Peter, I guess you could say I’m a bit of a wanderer,” Gary replied with false modesty. “A renaissance man, of sorts. I do a bit o’ this, a bob o’ that. You know, odds and sods. Some of what I get up to doesn’t hold to close inspection, if you know what I mean.” He clearly fancied himself a mysterious, romantic figure and was eager to embellish his aura in front of Nerys. “I get bored easily, ya see. I don’t like being tied down to one place for long.”

Peter nodded his head in sympathy. “I understand what ye mean, Gary, but I must admit that sometimes, I quite like being tied down. Under appropriate conditions and with the right company, it tends to get my creative juices flowin’,” he confessed.  
Donna was surprised enough when he had started fondling her in public, but at Peter’s blatantly suggestive comment- ostensibly to Gary but surely intended to invoke memories of a very specific evening- she started violently, fumbling and loosing one of the pretzel fragments down the front of her shirt. As she felt it bounce and lodge itself in the valley between her breasts, Donna stifled a sigh and rolled her eyes towards the heavens. “Of course,” she thought, “where else would it go?” She tried to surreptitiously wiggle the pretzel piece down, but she only succeeded in lodging it firmly against her breastbone and under the band of her bra.

Peter had seen everything, following the trajectory of the pretzel shard as it disappeared into her blouse. At first, he bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh or smirk, but then he saw Gary. The bleedin’ berk was openly leering at Donna’s cleavage as she tried to covertly dislodge the offending object and Peter was suddenly deadly serious. His hands clenched reflexively around his drink and he gave Gary a murderous look of warning the other man failed to see, much less recognize. When Donna stretched and pulled her shoulders back in a vain attempt to shake the pretzel free, he could all but see Gary’s mouth begin to water and Peter had to stifle the urge to throttle the man. Instead, he shifted in his seat and kicked Gary - hard - in the shin. Gary yelped in pain and shot back away from the table, rubbing his injured leg and grimacing at Peter in surprise.

“Oh, Gary, I’m so sorry for that,” Peter said flatly, without an ounce of regret in this voice. “I’m sure ye had no idea ye were trespassin’ on my territory,” he continued, with exaggerated calm. His expression was dangerous and he raised his eyebrows for emphasis, but again, Gary was too thick to catch the hint. Peter sniffed loudly, rubbing his nose as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving Gary’s face. Donna spared a questioning glance his way and he shrugged innocently.

Donna hadn’t noticed Gary’s lecherous ogling, which was a good thing for him, else his head might have soon parted company with his shoulders. Her attention was focused squarely on removing, as soon as possible, the irritant between her breasts that was making her life miserable. The pretzel was sharp and rough and it dug its way into her flesh with every breath she took. She realized reluctantly that she had no choice but to leave the table and remove the invader in the bathroom, but the thought of leaving Peter with Nerys filled her with dread.

“Nerys, sweetheart,” Donna said with forced cheer as she rose from the table, “I’m gonna pop to the loo. Come along: I want you to tell me more about Veena.” 

Nerys considered the situation momentarily- on the one hand, Donna was openly encouraging her to indulge in one of her favorite actives; trashing a friend behind her back. On the other hand, if she stayed at the table while Donna was gone, she would have her first opportunity to hold court with two men at once, with no unwanted competition for at least a few minutes. And Nerys knew a lot could happen in a few minutes. Whole nations had been lost in battle in less time, and Nerys was ready for a heated engagement.

“No, love, you go on. I’m good right here,” Nerys cooed, batting her lashes at Gary and casting a sidelong glance at Peter, still glowering at her date. Nerys, correctly interpreting Peter’s expression as jealousy but unaware of the cause, smiled and added, “We’ll keep each other entertained while you’re gone.” 

Donna gave her a sickly smile and patted Peter on the shoulder as she left, muttering, “And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” Halfway to the loo, she glanced back at the Throne Room nervously and was relieved to find that Peter’s attention was still focused on her instead of Nerys.

Peter turned in his chair to watch Donna retreat to the ladies’ room, stifling a smile as a twitch in Donna’s shoulders told him the pretzel was winning the battle between her breasts. As Donna disappeared from view, Peter turned his attention back to Gary, who was still rubbing his injured leg beneath the table. Peter laid his hands on the table before him and leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the man across the table and regarding him with a steady, unforgiving glower. Gary, oblivious to the fact that he’d been caught out, sat up and scratched his chin, turning his very best smarmy smile on Peter.

“So, mate, what did you say it was you did?” Gary said conversationally, carelessly slinging a proprietary arm around Nerys. Nerys wriggled closer to him and made a show of caressing his chest, all the while making eyes at Peter.

Peter regarded the display before him and waited a moment before responding. “I didnae. I’m a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police Service,” he said evenly, enjoying the startled expression on Gary’s face.

Gary quickly regained his composure and glanced at Nerys before raising his chin and asking, “ So how’s that, then? Like your work?” 

“Weeelllll,” Peter drawled, absently scratching his ear and nodding thoughtfully, “ it has it’s gratifyin’ moments. Most perpetrators are laborin’ under the mistaken belief that they’re too clever to be found out. Makes ‘em overconfident and reckless, which just makes my job all the easier, if ye catch my meanin’. And I’m good at what I do.” He crossed his arms casually on the table and leaned forward to confide in Gary, “So don’t think the object of yer recent investigation evaded my detection.” 

As Peter spoke, Gary nodded slowly, realization finally dawning. He pursed his lips and stretched his arms out across the table, mockingly presenting his wrists to Peter. “So, what you’re sayin', DI, is that I made a cock up of this evenin’? You gonna cuff me and take me away? Am I’m goin’ down, eh?” Gary joked. Nerys looked from one man to the other in confusion. This turn of events was unexpected and she wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about.

“That last is entirely up to Nerys, I would think,” Peter replied bluntly. “But you’ll be gone from here before Donna returns.” Nerys spluttered and squawked in protest, but Gary silenced her with a warning scowl.

Mairead sauntered by the table to retrieve the empties and tell them she'd be back with dinner soon, but when she caught sight of Gary’s face, long experience told her to back away to the safety of the bar and monitor the situation from a distance. She leaned over the counter to put a word in Lewis’ ear and settled with her back against it, watching the Throne Room with deliberate casualness. Lewis continued to laugh and joke with the customers around him, but his eyes never strayed far from the corner table.

Gary regarded Peter steadily, and his lad’s lad persona fell away. He retrieved a pretzel stick from the basket and chewed thoughtfully on it before muttering, “Fair cop.”

Peter’s answering smile chilled Gary’s blood. “Not bloody likely,” he promised and he was gratified to see Gary pale visibly.

Gary roused himself and popped his friendly mask back in place. “Nerys, love,” he announced, “I just remembered there’s someplace I got to be. Next time I’m in town, I’ll give you a ring, yeah?” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek as he rose from his chair and threw a few quid on the table.

“But Gary,” Nerys whinged in protest, “what about tonight? I got a babysitter and everythin'!”

Backing away, Gary answered her with a wink and offered Peter a wry salute as he opened the door to the George before disappearing into the night. Peter simply watched his retreat, paying no mind to Nerys as if he’d forgotten she was even there. Once he was satisfied that Gary was out of sight, he glanced back at the hallway leading to the lavatory as he turned back to the table and Nerys with a small, satisfied smile.

Nerys fumed internally and was just about to lay into Peter when a thought occurred to her: if she wasn’t getting any tonight, then neither would Donna. She decided she could still turn the situation to her advantage and maybe even lure Peter into her bed. The memory of his tight little arse in those lovely, snug jeans and the thought of his long, beautiful hands on her body made her mouth water and her eyes narrow. _Peter Carlisle won’t even know what hit him once I’m through with him,_ she thought smugly as she prepared to go on the offensive.

“Well, now," Nerys said, trying to act unconcerned at her abandonment. "You certainly put him in his place." When Peter barely shrugged in response, Nerys tried a different approach. "Where do I know you from, Peter?” She blurted out as Peter settled back in his chair. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“I’ve no had the pleasure,” he responded, still trying to give Nerys the benefit of a doubt. Perhaps her appalling public behavior was unintentional, too heavily influenced by strong drink. It was a condition he could relate to from his youth and have a bit of lingering sympathy for.

“No, you haven’t. Not yet,” she cooed, batting her eyes. She chewed on her thumb suggestively as she leaned her elbows on the table and used her upper arms to squeeze her breasts together in a futile attempt to create cleavage. She hunched her shoulders forward so that her low-cut top slid forward, affording Peter a view of her chest all the way down to her navel. “That was impressive. Now, what are we gonna do about Donna, hmmm?” She ghosted her fingers over the neckline of her top and brushed her bared breasts, grinning as his eyes followed her movements. “ ‘Cos you know, Peter,” she continued, “I'd really like to see how you look when I'm naked.”

Peter blinked hard for a moment before regaining his composure and his startled look was quickly replaced with a sly, knowing smile. "And what exactly is it that ye're offerin’, eh, Nerys? A night of passion such as I've never had and likely never will again?" He leaned across the table and traced the back of her hand delicately with the tips of his fingers. "Or are ye suggestin’ a more long-term arrangement? Sort of a friend of a friend with benefits?"

His fingertips raised gooseflesh on her arms and made warmth pool in her belly. “I'm fightin' the urge to make you the happiest man on earth tonight, and for many, many nights...to come?’ Nerys purred, pleased with her turn of phrase and the effect she expected it to have on Peter. “Those jeans you’re in are gonna look great in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor.”

"My, that's all quite original," Peter answered conversationally. "Are those yer own pick-up lines, or did ye procure them from a coworker in the service industry? I haven't heard a come-on so crude since I last interviewed one of the working girls in Blackpool." His eyes narrowed and his voice held an ominous tone of warning. "Donna considers ye her friend but after tonight, I'm sure I don't know why. Ye’re self-centered, vain- without one iota of justification, I might add- and shallow. What ye have in common with my Donna, I'll never know," he spat at Nerys in disgust.

Nerys jerked her hand away from his, hissing as if she’d been burned. "You're an arrogant, self-righteous bastard, Peter Carlisle,” she cried, voice rising above the din of the George. “Too bloody stupid to know when you’ve got a better offer, but what did I expect? I should have known a copper wouldn’t be able to figure anythin’ out for himself.” Nerys sneered at him before reaching for her empty drink. She regarded it in disgust, commenting, “That Mairead is just as useless as you are.”

“Ah, Nerys, there ye go again, provin’ my point,” Peter observed. “Perhaps if you had been able to temper that caustic attitude of yers earlier, ye wouldnae have had to resort to usin’ a turkey baster to father yer twins.....I guess that might make Christmas dinner a mite awkward at yer house.” At Nery’s stunned silence, he continued. "Since subtlety is wasted on one such as ye, let me be blunt. If ye ever attempt to come between Donna and me again, ye will live to regret it," he stated, voice dark and low. Peter folded his arms across his chest and sat back, glowering at Nerys with barely-disguised contempt.

Nerys saw Donna emerge from the loo and start back to the table. Sensing that she could still gain the upper hand, Nerys cried in mock-indignation, "Are you threatenin' me, Detective Inspector?" She glanced around the George and was gratified to see every set of eyes in the pub trained directly on the Throne Room. Donna stopped dead in her tracks, watching the train wreck unfold before her as Mairead appeared at her side. She looked from Nerys to Peter and back again in horror, clearly conflicted as to what her course of action should be and she was confused when Mairead tugged at her sleeve to guide her to the bar. Before she could react, however, Peter spoke.

"No, no, no, ye mistake my meanin', Nerys," Peter replied steadily, hands in the air in imitation of surrender. Nerys grinned evilly at Donna over Peter's shoulder before returning her attention to the man across the table from her. "I would never, in my official capacity as a Detective Inspector, even dream of threatenin' ye," he said, a bit more loudly than strictly necessary. "No, I would never threaten ye. I would, however," he continued, leaning towards her now on one elbow, " as cliched as it might sound, make ye a promise. Try to hurt Donna again, in any way, and I will make ye regret it. That is a promise straight from Peter Carlisle. Are we clear?"

When Nerys simply stared blearily at him without responding, he continued. “Now I'm willin', in deference to your long friendship with my Donna, to put all this down to disappointment in love and an excess of drink, but I suggest ye make yer exit now, before she returns. I'll make yer excuses.” 

At the bar, Donna’s eyes widened in surprise and she made as if to sprint back to the table until Mairead’s strong hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up at the other woman in surprise and let herself be turned away from the table before her as Lewis came over. He spoke to Donna quietly, his hand on her arm, occasionally nodding at the Throne Room behind her.

Nerys stared at Peter for several long seconds. Abruptly, she grabbed her bag from the back of her chair and stood, staggering slightly on unsteady legs. “You’ve seen the last of me, cop. You won’t have this chance again,” she sneered as she swept out of the booth. She was halfway to the door when her grand exit was spoiled by Peter’s parting remark.

“Clearly then, the investment of time we’ve made in this evenin’ will pay off handsomely in the future.” He raised his eyebrows and bade her goodbye with a mocking little wave, watching her as she huffed out of the George for what he hoped would be the last time. As the door closed behind her, he turned his attention to the pub, looking for Donna as one old codger at the far end of the bar raised his glass to Peter in salute. Peter acknowledged him with a slight nod as he stood to join Donna and Mairead at the other end. He didn’t miss the satisfaction in Lewis’s eyes as the man nudged Donna’s arm and nodded towards Peter.

Donna looked back behind him before she turned, confused, to Peter. “Where did Nerys go? And Gary?” she asked, craning her neck to see around him.

Peter looked Lewis in the eyes as he answered, offhand, while scratching his ear. “Oh, Nerys had to leave. She got a call from her sitter,” he lied. “And Gary went to get the car.” He reached over and took Donna by the hand, turning her away from the bar and guiding her towards the patio area at the rear of the George. Behind her back, Lewis nodded his approval at Peter as he turned back to his duties. 

“And where are we goin’, then, Policeman?” Donna asked, still a bit confused by what she’d witnessed. He opened the door and smiled as he heard the voice of Aretha Franklin singing You’re All I Need to Get By drifting in from the patio beyond.

“Just out back,” he replied, grinning and twirling her around before pulling her close for a playful kiss. “They’re playin’ music and I feel like dancin’ with my date...”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One more drink or one more dance- take your pick, mate. ‘Cos if you keep this pace up, you’re gonna have to carry me home,” Donna said, slightly winded, as Peter steered her towards their table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- As always, eternal thanks.

**Friday, 1 June 2012, 11:30 PM**  
  
“One more drink or one more dance- take your pick, mate.  ‘Cos if you keep this pace up, you’re gonna have to carry me home,” Donna said, slightly winded, as Peter steered her towards their table.  They’d stayed out later than usual in the wake of Nerys’ abrupt departure and Peter had kept her dancing and laughing ever since.  
  
“That sounds like a promisin’ situation, Ms. Noble,” Peter teased.  He sat down heavily across from her, and finished off the last of his pint before setting the glass carefully on the table, rolling it between his hands.  
  
Donna wiped her face with the back of her hand and snorted at him.  “Yeah, promisin’ to throw your back out, you prawn,” she retorted, leaning on her elbow and smiling at him.  She was hot, sweaty and exhausted and somehow, she felt better than she had in years.  “You ready to head home?” she asked without thinking.  
  
“Oh, aye,” he grinned.  “Yours or mine?”  He raised his eyebrows and gave her his best hopeful smile.  
  
“You left your coat at my flat,” she reminded him before stretching and yawning. Peter sat back and enjoyed the show before slowly moving his hand across the table to hers, languidly drawing patterns on the back of her hand.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, but Peter still saw and pressed his advantage.  
  
“If we go to mine, I’ll cook ye breakfast,” he wheedled, and when she smiled, he knew he had won.  So did Donna, but she was still determined to make him work for it anyway.  
  
“It’s farther to your flat than it is to mi...,” she began with a challenging lift to her chin, but before she could even finish her statement, he cut her off.  
  
Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear, “And I’ll serve it to ye in bed.”  Donna abruptly sat back, stunned and embarrassed.  
  
“I was only playin’, Peter.  You don’t have to do that,” Donna backpedaled, blushing.  “I don’t want to be hard work.”  
  
“The bargain’s been struck, Ms. Noble.  What sort of a man do ye think I am?  I wouldnae dream of backing out of it now,” he said as he rose from the table and extended his hand to her.  She took it with a bemused smile and followed him back into the pub.  
  
“You two are walkin’, right?” Luis called from the bar as they reached the exit.  Donna blushed and waved at him as she said under her breath, “Told you he knows where everyone is.  Treats me like I’m his sister or somethin’ sometimes, I swear.”  Peter grinned and turned to wave at Luis himself: _another reason to like the man_ , he decided as they made their way out and headed for Peter’s flat, arm in arm along the tree-lined streets.

 

**********

It wasn’t the first time Donna had been in Peter’s flat, but it was the first time she didn’t have other, more pressing things on her mind.  She turned the corner from the kitchen to the parlor and glancing about, she was struck by the sheer number of books in his rooms.  The wall across the room was literally floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and every available space was packed.  Donna had never seen so many books in one place outside a library or a bookstore, and she stood there, dumbfounded when she realized there were probably at least as many books in his bedroom as well.  She turned to him slowly and asked, “Have you read them all? Really?”  She knew some people bought books by the yard as decoration, but Peter didn’t seem the type.  
  
He smiled at her question and tossed his keys on the table, stooping to retrieve them when they skated across the top and onto the floor.  He walked over to where she stood and scratched his head, squinting up at the bookshelf she was inspecting.  “I’ve always been a reader.  I know it’s a cliché, but it allows you to experience places and times you cannae otherwise.  Gives you insight into the thoughts of others: it’s almost like being able to read someone else’s mind.  I’ve read a fair bit of everythin’...”  
  
“I can see that,” she said, stepping forward to run a finger across the spines of the volumes before her.  The first bookcase held a decent assortment of scholarly works- textbooks predominated, along with an assortment of volumes by Freud, Jung, Hawking and Sagan. As she worked her way across to the next bookcase, Donna smiled.  Beside a handsome gift-boxed, leather-clad edition of the works of Conan Doyle, she found the well-worn paperback copies he must have read in his youth.  The shelves above and below held other classic examples of detective fiction and she smirked as she saw that the Dashiell Hammett paperbacks were almost as worn as the Conan Doyle.  She skipped over to the next set of shelves and found they were laden with examples of the world’s great literature, heavily dominated by the works of one man.  “Shakespeare?” she asked, noticing that these works were newer additions to his library, yet still bore evidence of having been read.  
  
“ ‘Doth not the appetite alter?’ ” he quoted, pulling at his ear and looking up at her with a bashful grin. She smiled despite her inability to place the reference.  He watched her investigate the books before her and he wondered what she made of his modest library.  
  
Donna kept walking the length of the shelf, pausing sometimes to read a title, and grinning with delight when she found Peter Pan and Mary Poppins tucked in among the literature.  “Harry Potter’s in the bedroom,” he confessed and she positively beamed in response.  A title on the shelf below caught her attention and she fingered the set of In Search of Lost Time (Remembrance of Things Past), turning to look quizzically at him. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.  
  
“I’m a policeman.  The nature of memory is of interest to me,” Peter explained.  “Proust asked the questions that haunt me.  What is memory?  What determines what we do remember and what we forget?  And when you remember somethin’, is it really what happened?”  He leaned in close to stroke her cheek.  “So much of life is subjective, dependent on where you stand,” he all but whispered as he embraced her lightly and kissed her, smiling against her lips, “both literally and figuratively.”  
  
  
He pulled back to gauge her reaction and was confused when she looked down and turned in his embrace to inspect his books again.  She tried to hide it, but Peter saw the tears standing her eyes, almost ready to spill over and was puzzled.  “Donna, what did I say?  Somethin’ clumsy about memory?  I’m sorry, I dinnae mean to cause you pain.” He kissed her hair and pressed her back to his chest,  
  
“Oh, no, no, Policeman, it’s not you.  It’s nothin’, really,” she demurred, patting at his arm and struggling to suppress her tears.  “It’s not important.”  She looked over her shoulder to return his smile for his benefit, but Peter wasn’t convinced.  
  
“Then what?” he asked.  When she didn’t respond, he implored, “Don’t hide from me, Donna.  Please?”  
  
She turned back again and hugged him tightly for a moment before pushing away, her hands braced on his chest. “Peter, what are you doin’ with me?” she asked, searching his face.  “You’re brilliant and handsome and accomplished and doin’ somethin’ important with your life...  I’m just a temp from Chiswick.  The only thing remarkable about me is that I got lucky and won a lottery drawing so I don’t have to be a burden on anyone,” she whispered, slumping slightly in his arms.  “And not even that was my doin’.”  
  
Peter pulled her tightly to him, burying his face in her hair and wondered who in her life had hurt her so badly that she had no idea of her own worth.  He tipped her head back and placed a gentle kiss on her lips before resting his forehead against hers.  “Ye know, a life is made of the sum of yer experiences; the good, the bad, the things ye regret doin’, and worse, the things ye regret not doin’,” he said quietly.  He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing.  “And I’ve told ye, there are things in my past I’m no proud of.  But if everythin’ in my life has been necessary to lead to this minute, here with ye, then I wouldnae change a thing.  No one damned thing.  I have never in my life been happier than I am with ye.”  Donna pulled back and smiled sadly at him.  He could see the doubt in her eyes: she still thought he was being a gentleman and telling her what she wanted to hear, rather than what he truly felt.  
  
“Ye’re bright and beautiful and everythin’ I want.  If I could, I’d lay the world at yer feet.  I’d give ye the stars.  As it is, all I can offer is my heart, and ye already have that.”  He swept his hand back towards his bookcase and continued.  “I donae care if ye’ve no read a certain book before and if ye feel you must, that can be easily remedied.  I know plenty of idjuts with advanced degrees who wouldnae know enough to shut their traps when it rains for fear of drownin’.”   She gave a snort of amusement and patted his cheek fondly, still not believing his words.  Frustrated, he caught her hand in his and kissed her palm before looking directly in her eyes.  
  
“Donna, what I care about- what I need- ye have in abundance: a caring soul, a quick wit and a smile that lights up the dark spaces in my heart.  Those are all rare gifts.  And the fact that they’re all wrapped up in a beautiful ginger package is just a bonus,” he said earnestly.  “So that’s the last I ever want to hear of ye sayin’ things like that about yerself.  I willnae let anyone deride the woman I love; not even ye.”  
  
Donna smiled and nodded her head.  Peter could still see traces of disbelief and bemusement in her expression, but for once, at least, she didn’t attempt to contradict him.  _Rome wasn’t built in a day_ , he thought, and he took her silence as a small victory. “And now, Ms. Noble, as the day draws to an end and in light of our earlier strenuous activities,” he began, gratified to see Donna truly smile in anticipation.  She loved language and wordplay and he’d learned that the more grandiose and outrageous he made a proposal sound, the more readily she would agree to his suggestions.  “I find that I need to perform my customary ablutions.  As my facilities are not nearly as palatial as yer own, and in fact are downright humble in comparison, I was wonderin’ if I might still be able to tempt ye to join me therein?” he finished, with a playful lift of an eyebrow.  
  
She abruptly pulled him closer for a quick kiss before grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hall.  “I’d better join you,” she groused, “I know what you’re like in the bath, and if I want any hot water at all, I’m gonna have to fight you for it.”

 

**************

  
**Saturday, 2 June 2012, 7:30 AM**  
  
Peter woke to sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window, dancing across the sheets and the brilliant hair of the woman in his arms.  He blinked several times, carefully raising a hand to shield his eyes, trying not to disturb Donna’s slumber.  He flinched in surprise when she abruptly asked, "So, do you have any photos?  From your weddin'?"  She stretched in the warm comfort of his embrace before turning over and resting her chin on his chest.  
  
"What?  Why?  Where did that come from?" he stammered, disoriented and caught off-guard.  “And whatever happened to a simple ‘Good mornin’?”  He squinted down at her, a bit dazed.  
  
"Good mornin’,” she said brightly as she danced her fingers across his ribs, tickling him slightly.  “I’ve been awake for hours.  So, pictures?”  
  
Still half asleep, he caught her mischievous hand in his and brought it to his lips.  “Pictures,” he repeated as he kissed her fingertips.  “Pictures,” he said again, his voice deepening as her meaning became clear.  He glanced over to at the bookcases lining his bedroom walls and saw what must have been staring her in the face all morning.  He looked down at her again and found her studying his expression.  
  
“Peter, I'm just curious,” she explained.  “I just want to see what she looked like. I  **really**  want to see what  **you**  looked like," Donna admitted with an impish smile.  At his obvious discomfort, her expression softened and she reached up to turn his face to hers, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. "It's OK: it's not important, love. I was just bein' nosey, is all."  
  
"No. No, ye're right, it’s alright," he murmured before getting out of bed and padding over to the bookshelf.  He pulled out his photo album and flipped to the middle before handing it to Donna as he slipped back into bed beside her. She looked at the large portrait taken at the alter; in it, a lovely petite blonde smiled up at a very young Peter Carlisle. Donna traced the photo with a tentative finger: gangly and tall but obviously the same man, Peter was looking down at the woman by his side with a goofy expression that could only be described as joyous.  
  
"Oh, Peter she was lovely!"  Donna breathed.  She smiled and wasn’t surprised to feel her eyes prickle slightly: she always cried at weddings.  After a moment’s pause, she exclaimed, "And you!  What were you?  Like twelve then?"  
  
Looking a touch sheepish, Peter answered defensively, "We were both 22 and in uni together. We thought it would last forever." Looking over her shoulder, he became subdued and thoughtful.  "Turns out forever was only three years," he said sadly.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I wasnae the man she thought she'd married. I told ye I was studyin’ psychology at the time. Rosslyn thought she'd married a doctor, not a lowly policeman."  He shrugged slightly before returning to the present with a wistful expression.  
  
"I'm sorry," Donna said, looking up from the album in her lap.  
  
"Donae be. A wise person once said 'Every moment that's ever been or ever will be, is gone the instant it's begun. So life is loss. And the secret to happiness is to learn to love the moment more than ye mourn the loss.' "  He tugged her closer and gave her a sweet, lingering kiss.  
  
"That's beautiful, Policeman; where's it from?"  
  
"I dunno,” he admitted cheekily.  “I read it on a plaque on the wall of a bed and breakfast up north during a murder investigation last year."  
  
Donna's sympathetic expression morphed into an indignant guffaw as she punched him in the shoulder.  Peter rubbed the spot where she'd assaulted him, feigning injury before grinning and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.  
  
“And this is Natalie,” Donna said pointing at a more recent picture.  Another blonde, she noted, and for a moment, her heart dropped, until she turned to look at him.  She was sitting here, in his bed, and at her request, he was laying his life out before her in pictures.  
  
“Yes,” he said slowly, “and I’ll be forever grateful for her.”  
  
Donna smiled and looked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.  
  
“If it had no been for her, I might still be in North Lakes, or worse, Blackpool.  I wouldnae understand how important it is to not leave things unsaid.  If it had no been for her, I wouldnae have met ye.”  
  
“Then if I ever meet her, I’ll thank her,” Donna said simply.  "Do you ever hear from Rosslyn?"  
  
"No, but I get the odd bit of news now and then, tricklin' down from mutual acquaintances,” he admitted, pulling at his ear.  “Last I heard, she did end up with a doctor...a bit older than her, they say, but still. She's happy now."  
  
"And you?"  
  
He answered her question with a heartbreakingly tender kiss.  "Never better," he whispered as he sank back down on the bed, pulling her after him.  “Now about that breakfast...”

 

 

**************

**Sunday, 3 June 2012, 11:30 AM**  
  
  
Donna took a deep breath and tried to muster the courage to do what had to be done before too much time passed and it became one of those Discussions That Must Be Avoided, an event that they both agreed to ignore. They'd danced around it all the previous day, neither daring to acknowledge the topic as it hovered over them, a storm cloud on the horizon threatening to ruin a perfect, sunny afternoon, but Donna couldn't stand it any longer. She'd seen small things fester and grow until a tiny slight grew to be something monstrous and she wouldn't let this drive a wedge between them if she could help it. Besides, what could he do now?  Peter was laden down with the groceries he'd insisted on carrying, leaving her to fish her keys out of her pocket while she balanced the cake box containing the dessert he'd picked out while her back was turned.  
  
“I’m sorry, Peter, really I am, about the other night.  I overheard the last of it,” she said quietly as they entered her flat.  
  
“I though ye might have done,” he admitted as he set the bags down on the kitchen island.  “But ye’ve nothin’ to apologize for.  It was all down to her, not ye.  She’s the one who should be apologizin’ to ye,” he said, pointedly refusing to use Nerys’ name.  
  
“Oh, Peter, that’s exactly why I didn’t want to go,” Donna explained hopelessly.  “I knew Nerys would be upset at having been upstaged by you bein’ there.  No one was payin’ her any attention and she had to make a grab for the spotlight.  She was drunk as well, and she said things I know she didn’t really mean.”  
  
“Upstaged?”  
  
“She's used to bein’ the main attraction and I'm guilty for that.  I’ve played into it in the past,” Donna offered, waving her hand helplessly in the air.  
  
Peter felt himself stiffen at her words.  He was still seething over Nerys’ treatment of her  and he knew Donna didn’t know all of what Nerys was guilty of that night. “Why on God’s green earth do ye put up with that harpy?” he raged as he pulled cans and boxes from the shopping bags and roughly set them on the counters.  “The things she said?  Ye deserve better...” He stopped short, realizing that he was teetering on the edge of a truly epic rant and that Donna had gone terribly quiet.  
  
He stepped away from the counter then and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to turn to him.  “I’m sorry.  My temper got the better of me and drink got the better of her.  I’ll make amends, make peace with her, I promise.”  
  
“No, I don’t want that,” Donna said with sudden firmness.  “It’s alright.  You don’t have to like her.  You don’t ever have to see her again, if you don’t want.”  
  
Peter studied her, wanting to understand.  “Then why..?”  
  
“She’s my oldest friend, and since my ... accident, she’s my only friend.  Through all this weirdness, she’s the only one who has stayed with me.  Peter, that’s got to be worth somethin’, right?” Donna pleaded with him, willing him to understand.  “Even if she isn’t ... nice, sometimes?” she added, biting her lip.  
  
 _And there it is_ , Peter thought,  _her real reason_.  Nerys was the connection Donna had to her past life, a reflected memory of who she’d been and a bridge to her present.  He didn’t agree with her, but he understood.  He didn’t trust himself to speak so instead, he framed her face with his hands and nodded once before hugging her to his chest.  Nerys was poison, of that fact he had no doubt, but pointing it out to Donna would do no good.  If and when the time came, Donna would have to be the one to decide to purge Nerys from her life, not him.  
  
Donna smiled gratefully and turned back to the counter.  She unpacked their takeaway meal and augmented it with a bowl of cut fruit as she turned back to Peter.  “Same place, or do we want to pretend to be civilized and eat at the table?” she asked as she walked out of the kitchen.  
  
“I defer to you, but I’m a creature of habit,” he replied, following her with bottled water as she moved to their customary place on the couch.  Peter snagged a strawberry from the fruit bowl she had tucked into the crook of her arm and he waved it in the air before her until she looked to the heavens and opened her mouth. He hummed his approval as she closed her eyes and took a bite, licking her lips as she swallowed.  She smiled when she opened her eyes and saw that he held the rest for her to finish.  Donna set their meal down on the coffee table and leaned forward as he popped the last of the strawberry in her mouth, nipping at his fingers and laughing at his mock-outraged expression. She settled comfortably onto the couch but when Donna felt something shift behind the cushion against her back, her eyes widened in sudden remembrance.  
  
“Oh, I forgot the utensils and napkins,” she said as Peter set the water bottles down on the table before her.  “I’ll just pop back...” she said, smiling hopefully as she started to get up again.  
  
“Stay there, love.  I’m still up- I’ll get them,” Peter offered as he headed back to the kitchen.  
  
Donna gave a tiny sigh of relief and quickly fished the book out from behind the cushion surreptitiously.  She slipped it onto the floor just as Peter started back and she leapt up suddenly before he made his way back to her.  “I’ve just remembered,” she said breathlessly, quickly kicking the book under the sofa before meeting him halfway across the living room. “I’ve got something I want to give you, love.”  
  
Peter nodded, puzzled at the sudden change in activity. “Now?” he asked, waving the forks and napkins in the air. “I mean, we’ve got lunch and...” he trailed off in the face of Donna’s unexpected but genuine exuberance.  He tossed the napkins and silverware onto the table as she grabbed him and dragged him down the hall to her bedroom.  
  
“It won’t take two minutes.  I’ve had them for days, but I wasn’t sure how to give them to you before,” she said breathlessly as she backed into her bedroom and stopped before her closet.  Peter smiled darkly as he remembered the part the mirrored doors had played in their recent activities in Donna’s bedroom.  She held her breath as she opened the closet and drew out three clothes hangers.  “Now you won’t have to go home on Sunday evening, unless, of course, you want to...” she said quietly as she held them out to him.  
  
He took the hangers from her, examining the garments draped thereupon.  One held a dark pair of trousers, the next, a white dress shirt, and the third, a pair of jeans.  He was surprised when he peeked at the tags and found them to be not only in his size, but also the same brand he usually bought.  He opened his mouth to thank Donna, but she cut him off nervously before he could speak.  
  
“The drawer over here has a few pairs of socks, vests and pants,” she continued, chattering anxiously as she skittered across to a chest of drawers.  “I didn’t get you shoes, though.  Thought you ought to try them on, first, as I know you’re on your feet a lot.”  She suddenly couldn’t look at him properly and shifted from foot to foot as she waited for his reaction.  “Maybe I should have asked before I ....”  
  
Peter laid the garments down on the bed and reached out for her.  “Donna, thank ye.  Really.  But ye didnae have to do this, ye know,” he said as he put an arm about her waist and tilted her head up with a gentle finger.  “I actually have a bag packed in the boot of the car for this.  It’s just lately, we’ve been walkin’ and the last time I had the car here, I forgot to get it out.”  At her uncertain smile, he continued.  “They’re perfect.  Ye sized them when ye picked up our things off the floor the other night?” he asked.  
  
 She nodded, biting at her lip before answering.  “I just thought it would be easier this way.  I do have one more thing for you, but it’s all right if you don’t like them.”  She went back to the closet and retrieved a long, thin box which she handed to him.  Inside, he found two new ties: one dark blue with a lighter blue floral pattern, the other a deep maroon with grey and blue rounded rectangles scattered about.  

“Donna,” he began as he looked up, but something behind her caught his attention.  
  
Growing bolder, Donna said, “Trust me, Peter.  A bit of subtle color will look good on you.”  She held the maroon tie up to his chest and was pleased with the result.  
  
He shook his head slightly and glanced down at the tie she held.  “No, Donna, these are fine, honestly.”  He stepped back to her closet and took a hanger from the opposite side.  “But what’s this doin’ here?”  He held it up, examining it curiously.  
  
“Oh, no...no, no, no,” Donna exclaimed as she snatched it from Peter’s grasp.  “That, you don’t get back.”  
  
“That tatty old thing?” he said, indicating the garment she had clutched to her chest.  It was an old grey hoodie from his early days with North Lakes that had definitely seen better days; it was worn, baggy, and stretched out of shape with one elbow nearly frayed through.  
  
“That’s mine, now.  You can’t have it back,” she said defiantly, turning away from him, slightly hunched protectively over her prize.  
  
He grinned in sudden realization: it was the shirt she’d nicked from his closet to go home in the first time she’d stayed over at his flat.  Her expression all but dared him to try and take it from her, and he lifted his chin challengingly.  “We’ll just have to see about that now, won’t we, missy...”  
  
From that day on, whenever Peter stayed over, he made a point of hiding the hoodie somewhere before leaving, the added benefit being that Donna would insist on searching him before he went, just to make sure he hadn’t stashed it in his bag.  After the first occasion, he learned to time his departures a good forty-five minutes earlier than strictly necessary, just in case.

 

**************

  
**Monday, 4 June 2012, 2:30 PM**  
  
"DI, here's the copy on the Morgan murder going out over the evening news tonight," said DS Keating breathlessly as he strode into the offices of the Homicide Task Force. "I have to get it to my contact prior to his deadline so as to make tonight's broadcast. Printed up a copy for your approval before I sent it to him," he added.  
  
Peter Carlisle looked up as his partner approached, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Who wrote it?" he asked, absently fumbling for a lolly in his desk drawer. He started to unwrap it and pop it in his mouth before he did something downright astonishing- he shook his head once and dropped the opened sweet in the waste bin.  Ian's step faltered for an instant before he regained his composure and remembered Peter's question.  
  
"I did, DI," Ian responded, extending the paper across the desk and for the second time in the space of two minutes, DI Carlisle's actions amazed him.  
  
"That's all right, DS Keating. I donae need to see it," Peter said.  "Get it to your contact now."  When Ian failed to respond, Peter glanced up just in time to see his partners gobsmacked expression.  
  
Peter scratched at his chin while explaining.  “He's your contact, you trust the man and you'll tell him all he needs to know to help us track down Bence or anyone else who might be involved."  When Keating merely nodded, Peter continued. "You know the facts of this case at least as well as I do, Ian. You donae need me as a mother hen hoverin' over you."  
  
“Thank you, DI,” Ian said, nodding absently and starting back for the door.  He rested his hand on the doorknob for a second before turning back to Peter and asking, “What’s happened?  There’s something different about you....”  
  
Peter shrugged and offered, “New tie?” as he gestured at his chest.  
  
“No,” Ian answered, turning back.  “Although now that you mention it, it has been a topic of office conversation today.”  
  
“WHAT?” Peter spluttered, aghast.  “Again?!?  Do people have nothin’ better...”  
  
“The general consensus seems to be that it’s a good color for you,” Ian interrupted as he leaned back against the door.  “And the office gossip?  That’s still all your fault, by the way, but it’s not too late to do something about it.  We’re at St. Stephen’s every Friday evening.”  Peter had the good grace to look chastised and Ian decided to chance his next statement.  “You might even ask your ginger to come along?”  
  
“I might do,” Peter said, looking down awkwardly.  
  
Ian carefully looked away before continuing. “Have you found anything new with your personal inquiry?”  Peter shook his head and after a long pause, Ian offered, “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”  Peter nodded, not meeting his partner’s gaze.  Ian pursed his lips and nodded, reaching again for the doorknob.  
  
 “Ian,” Peter called softly just before he opened the door, “it’s Donna.  Her name is Donna.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna decides to really show Peter the meaning of restraint, but as usual, he surprises her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Tell her...tell her... ah, she knows.

**Wednesday, 6 June 2012, 2:30 PM**

“Everything OK, DI?”

Slightly rattled, Peter looked up from his computer to see the curious face of his partner, DS Keating at the door.  “Yeah, fine.  Why?” said Peter petulantly, tapping at the table with a pencil.

“Well, one: it’s way past lunchtime and yet you still sit there and two: you didn’t even hear me come in just now.  Neither is like you, so what’s up?” Ian asked, leaning against the doorframe and scratching his head.

Rubbing his face with both hands and sighing heavily, Peter bought himself a few seconds to collect his thoughts before answering. 

“Donna took the day off to go with her mum to the doctor’s office, so I skipped lunch,” he began, answering one question while still considering how to respond to the second.  He was frustrated with the results of his search and angry with himself for not being able to find out more about Donna during her missing time.  That, taken with the so-far abysmal results of the Morgan investigation in the wake of the news broadcast, and the result was one royally pissed-off Detective Inspector.  What he needed was a confidant, a sounding board, someone who would let him ramble until he could see what he was missing, but he wondered how much he dared to share with Ian.  He cocked his head to the side and with a tiny, wry smile, his answer came clear.  At some point, he had begun to think of his partner as Ian instead of DS Keating.  It was all the sign he needed.

“And I’m gettin’ nowhere fast in my personal investigation,” he admitted, dragging his hands through his hair.  Ian stood in the doorway and waited for Peter to continue.  “Donna was in some sort of accident awhile back and cannae account for some missing time in her past,” he explained.  He stood abruptly and began pacing in his office as Ian quietly closed the door and took a seat.  “I offered to do a bit of diggin’ around for her, but I cannae find anything; no one single record of Donna anywhere from June of 2007 to September of 2009.  With all the formidable resources of the Metropolitan Police Force available to me, and I turn up no one bloody reference.  Nothin’ at all.  I found a few blurry photos that  _may_  or  _may no_  be her from old CCTV footage in some unsolved case files, but that’s it.  It’s as if she simply vanished off the face of the earth,” he grumbled, stopping and leaning back on his desk, “and who can do that nowadays?”

“Vanish from the face of the earth?  What, like there’s nothing in the public records?” Ian asked incredulously.  “Tax records?  Driving license?  Mobile bills?”

Peter shook his head as Ian ticked off the usual sources one by one.  “No one bloody mention, no trace a’tall,” he sniffed.  “I checked hospital records, travel records, passports, credit cards, ye name it.  No one bloody thing to indicate that she was even on the damned planet.  I dinnae know where to go from here, and it’s drivin’ me spare.”

“Maybe under a different name?” Ian countered and Peter waved the suggestion away.

“No, she was only ever Donna Noble at the time,” he responded as he threw himself back into his chair.

“The way you describe it, it sounds like something out of a spy novel,” Ian muttered and Peter’s head jerked up.

“Sorry?”

“I was just thinking this sounds like a situation from a spy novel,” he repeated.  “You know, the person was working for a secret organization or some other such nonsense and their identity was erased.  Granted, it makes for good cinema, but it’s not as if that happens in real life, though,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

“But what if the reason I cannae find public record of Donna is that she wasnae a part of the general public?” Peter said, warming to the idea.  “What if she was workin’ for some organization that required secrecy?”

“Wait- what are you suggesting?  That Donna worked for MI6?”  Ian paused, amused at the possibility before he shook his head and returned to reality.  “What is it she does, DI?”

“She’s currently workin’ across the way at Cheltenham & Gloucester,” Peter responded carefully.

“As what?  An analyst? An advisor?”  Ian countered.

“She’s part of the clerical staff,” he replied evenly.  When Ian frowned, Peter continued.  “What? I’m not sayin’ she was a spy or some secret agent, but donae covert agencies need support staff?  Maybe, for reasons of security, she had to assume a false identity at the time?  It might explain her disappearance is all I’m sayin’.”

Ian paused and reconsidered the information for a moment, wondering just how far his partner was prepared to go in pursuit of the truth and what exactly he himself was willing to do to assist him.  “I suppose it’s possible, DI, but not probable,” he drawled, shaking his head. 

“But no impossible!  Especially if you’ve ever met her,” Peter asserted.  He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.  “Besides, I’ve exhausted every other avenue I can think of,” he muttered, “and when ye've eliminated the impossible..,”

“Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” Ian finished.  When Peter favored him with an appreciative grin, Ian groused, “Finally, a sodding reference I recognize.”

 

**********

**Wednesday, 6 June 2012, 7:00 PM**

The evening had started innocently enough, with the both of them eating a fish dinner at the Bulls Head out back near the water, each taking turns at stealing chips from the other’s plate.  Whereas the George offered warmth and camaraderie, the charm of the Bulls Head was the relative anonymity and quiet.  Donna was sure that they were recognized, but beyond a polite nod, no one acknowledged their presence.  She smiled at the dichotomy between their chosen haunts and was thankful that Peter was willing to forgo his privacy most nights in order to be with her.

Peter sensed her thoughts were turning inward so he reached over and plainly stalked her chips, teasing her to draw her attention back to him.  When she smacked his hand, he laughed aloud and Donna smirked at him before relenting and pushing her plate across to him. “So tell me, how was yer day with your mum?” he asked, munching on his reward.

“Oh, please,” Donna groaned.  “Can’t we just talk about somethin’ else?  I already had to live through one interrogation today.  I don’t think I can handle another.”  She threw her hair over her shoulder angrily before looking in Peter’s eyes.  He waited for her mood to pass and she exhaled heavily before leaning on the table and resting her chin in her hand.  “Sorry, Copper, it’s not you.  It’s her.”

Peter smiled and reached for her hand, rubbing the back with his thumb.  “What was her complaint?  If it’s any of my business, that is.”

“What doesn’t she complain about?  I don’t have a ‘real job’,” Donna raged, making air quotes, “I’m not settled down, I spend my money foolishly, I don’t come ‘round for tea, all her friends have grandkids, and what am I doin’ to remedy that situation...” she finished weakly, realizing too late that she’d strayed into uncharted territories.

“Perhaps it’s time to remedy some of that, eh?” Peter began and when Donna sat up straight, her eyes growing wide, he clarified, “The tea part, anyway.”  Donna visibly relaxed and Peter continued.  “D'ye think she’d consent to dinner with the likes of me? In some public place, mind,” he hastily amended.  “It’d be my treat.”

“Oh, bloody hell, Copper!  You, puttin’ up with my Mum?  I’ll pay you!” Donna declared vehemently.  “Are you sure you want to subject yourself to that special brand of torture?”  She clutched his hand and added, “You really, really don’t have to.  I don’t expect you to.”

“Weeellll,” Peter said, rubbing at the back of his neck for a moment, “I’ve already survived the first encounter.  The next time cannae be any worse, especially if ye’re there.  She’s gonna have to get used to me eventually.  Might as well be now,” he finished with a shrug.

Donna felt the tears start to well up and she bit her lip and looked down to regain her equilibrium, clutching his hand gratefully in both of hers.  He was planning on being in her life long enough that her mum would have to accept it.  She scooted forward in her chair to reach across the table and touch his face and their knees bumped.  Peter grinned suddenly and shifted, letting their feet twine under the table and before she really knew it, Donna slipped her shoe from her foot and started stroking the inside of Peter’s calf.

Peter’s eyes darkened and he leaned across the table to whisper to her, “We’d better take this out of here soon.  But at least we’re displayin’ admirable restraint in public this time...”  He closed his eyes to kiss her, and was unprepared when, without warning, Donna slapped his shoulder soundly.  Several heads turned their way and Donna shrunk back across the table.

“And that’s for the remark you made the other night at the George!” Donna hissed indignantly, glaring at one patron over Peter’s shoulder until the woman turned her attention back to her own companion.  “I thought I was gonna crawl under the table an’ die.”

“No one knew what I meant but ye,” he teased, wincing just a bit as he rubbed his battered arm.

“As if that made it all right!” Donna snorted.  “I swear, I’ve never been so embarrassed in my entire life.”

“Are ye expectin’ an apology for that?  I certainly hope no, as it’s no gonna happen, missy,” Peter challenged and Donna stood her ground, rising and reaching for his hand. He eyed her warily for a moment before taking her hand in his.

“We’ll just see about that, shall we?” Donna countered as she led him to the door, smiling at the thought of the last daring purchase she’d made on a recent shopping trip and glad that she’d had the courage to slip it into the bottom of her shoulder bag that morning.

 

********** 

**Wednesday, 6 June 2012, 8:32 PM**

They stumbled out of the lift and into his flat, Peter slamming the door shut behind him as Donna pushed him up against the wall and kissed him.  He responded enthusiastically, pulling her closer with one arm while spinning her around and walking her down the hall before pinning her up against the living room wall.  Without looking, he reached behind to toss his keys at the table and they shot across the top, clattering noisily to the floor.  He let his hands wander over her curves and she leaned her head back with a low, needy moan as he nibbled at her neck.

She tugged at his belt, trying to remove it and giving up in frustration when she groped about his waist and found it held fast in place by something that turned out to be his handcuff case.  She focused instead on the button and zip of his trousers as he kicked his shoes off and fumbled with the buttons on her sweater.  Donna turned him back around, letting him use the wall as support as his trousers slipped down his hips and she followed their progress to the floor, letting him peel her dark blue sweater from her as she went.   When she succeeded in removing them, Donna gleefully flung his trousers over her shoulder and laughed when they hit the floor with a resounding thud.

Peter grimaced slightly, sparing a single thought for his downstairs neighbor before he swung her around again and pushed her back against his dining room table.  His cock jumped at the memory of her splayed out before him and he tried to lay her back across it again, but Donna had other ideas. “Oh, no,” she breathed into his hair, letting her bag drop to the floor at her feet as he gently bit her shoulder, “I’m not dessert tonight, Policeman.  Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

He hummed his assent, stumbling against her bag and accidentally spilling the contents across the floor.  Donna’s eyes widened when she glanced down and spotted her toy not far from Peter’s discarded trousers.  As he grabbed her hand and began to tug her after him towards the bedroom, she just managed to scoop them up with her free hand and hide them behind her back as she followed.

Peter dragged her roughly to him, kissing her deeply while thumbing open the button of her trousers.  It came free easily and Donna groaned when he batted her hand away as she tried to undo her zip.  “Mine,” he breathed into her mouth, “all mine.”  She made quick work of the buttons of his shirt as he slipped her trousers off her hips and pushed her gently back against his bed.  She obliged, making sure to hide her toy under her as she lay back.  She lifted her hips as he pulled the garment free and looking up at her, he licked his lips: she was now wearing only a lacy, deep sapphire bra and matching sheer knickers. He shucked off his shirt as she began to settle back and suddenly, she let loose a tiny gasp as cold metal touched her bare skin and she arched her back slightly off the bed.  Her breasts heaved up and almost spilled over their lacy confines and Peter bit his lip as he traced her curves with his fingertip.

“New?” he asked breathlessly.  Donna‘s heart leapt in her chest and she nodded, watching his eyes caress her.

“For me?” he asked almost shyly as he joined her on the bed and let his hands wander down her body.

“For you and no one else, Policeman,” she breathed and Donna saw his erection jump and strain against his pants at her words.  She slipped a hand beneath her, under her back, searching for a moment before her fingers closed around the now-warm metal.  She gave him an evil smile, then rolled him over and straddled him.  He could feel her heat as she hovered barely over him, kissing him while she leaned up and captured his right hand in hers and stretched his arm up towards the headboard.  Donna reached for his other hand and pulled his arm up over his head as well.  She dragged herself across his chest before sitting upright, leaving his arms in place and shaking her head when he started to move.  “What...,” he began, but his question died on his lips as she rocked against him and scooped up something from the bed beside her.  She held up her hand, letting the hinged handcuffs fall open in front of him for him to see.

Peter swallowed hard at the sight and she was suddenly unsure of herself when she realized what she had done: somehow, she'd manage to sprawl him diagonally across his bed, hands thrust on either side of a corner post. She hesitated a bit, biting her thumb as she debated the wisdom of what she was contemplating when his voice broke through her deliberations.

“Missy, if ye're plannin' on usin’ those, ye’d best hurry before I flip ye over and use ‘em m’self,” Peter warned her, his voice dark and low.  Donna gasped in response and his accent alone was enough to galvanize her into action.  She felt a sharp thrill of lust shoot through her as she leaned up and carefully fastened one cuff around his wrist.  She tugged his hand closer to the bedpost, and inhaled sharply when he lifted his head to lick at her nipple through her bra.  He grinned wickedly as she started back and Donna quickly captured his other hand and snapped the other cuff in place.  Still astride his hips, she sat back, pleased, and admired her handiwork.

He twisted his head to get a look at the manacles holding his hands above him.  “No bad,” he remarked, turning back to Donna with a mischievous smile.  “But I must warn ye- ye cannae hesitate when cuffin’ someone who might offer resistance. It’s a situation fraught with opportunity and can easily rebound on ye if ye donae take precautions.” His hips rolled forward and Donna felt the tip of his cock brush her core through her knickers, demanding entrance.

She lifted her hips a fraction to give herself some semblance of control and studied him openly, languidly stroking his chest and following the dark trail of hair from his navel that disappeared beneath her thighs.  “So you’ve been in this situation before, then?” Donna asked in a calm, steady voice that belied the turmoil roiling within her.

“This is no the first time I’ve worn the bracelets,” Peter leered and rolled his hips again, this time more pronounced and insistent.  He paused then gave a short chortle as she tried and failed to hide her shock, her eyes widening in surprise.  “Trainin’ exercises,” he explained breathlessly and she ground her hips against his in retaliation.

“Cheeky git,” she muttered.  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?  You have to have the last word in every situation.”  Peter considered his response and just as he opened his mouth to speak, Donna leaned down and whispered, “Not this time,” as she captured his lips in a bruising kiss.  She felt his arms tense and pull against his restraints as he instinctively sought to draw her nearer, and she momentarily felt guilty until she heard a low, hungry growl escape him.

“Oh, Copper,” Donna groaned as she settled back down on him, his cock nestled against her sodden knickers and pressing up into her hot, slick folds.  She shifted slightly, rocking back and forth against him, the tip of his cock teasing at her clit, and she was thankful for the sheer barrier between them.  If it hadn’t been, this would be over before she really got started.  Her cheeks flushed and her breathing faltered as she rested her hands against his chest, her hair cascading over her shoulder as she struggled to control her reactions.  She shifted slightly back and when his cock twitched hard between her legs, she moaned, “Now aren’t you sorry you made that crack about bein’ restrained?”  She raised her eyes back to his and found them darker and deeper than she’d ever seen before.

“Donna, in no way, shape, or form am I now, nor will I ever be, sorry for that statement,” he ground out from behind gritted teeth.  His eyes roved over her curves, over the pink stain that was creeping down her chest and disappearing behind the bra she still wore and he sighed before continuing.  “If this is the result, I consider my comment to have been divinely inspired.”

As much as she loved the sound of his voice, Donna decided that the time for verbal foreplay was at an end.  She wanted him, desperately, deeply, but even more, she wanted to know what was going through his head.  “Peter,” she whispered, her hands framing his face of their own accord, fingertips stroking his temples gently as she leaned down across him, “tell me what you want.”

“I want to touch ye,” he replied without hesitation, “but as I cannae, what I wan'... is to see ye touch yerself... please...”  His voice rumbled deep in his chest and Donna jerked her hands back.

“Oh,” she said softly, flustered and unable to meet his gaze.

When she didn’t respond, Peter continued.  “Donna, ye must've known what I'd say. Why else restrain me thus,” he said, shaking his cuffs, “unless ye were gonna give me a show?” he asked with a flick of his eyebrows as his tongue traced his bottom lip.  He cocked his head to the side with an impudent grin and winked at her.   _You smug bastard,_ she thought, realizing that he knew her motivations; he realized almost instantly things about herself that, until that very moment, she didn’t.  Lust seemed to only sharpen his observational skills, unlike most of the men she had known.  She relaxed back against him, letting her hips settle against his again but not meeting his gaze.

Donna marveled at the state of affairs in which she found herself: she had Peter sprawled diagonally across the bed, shackled naked to his own headboard with her straddling his cock and, using only his words and the opportunity she had foolishly given him, he somehow managed to wrest control of the situation from her.  She wanted to do as he asked; it was a simple request, but she didn’t know how to begin.  She hazarded a glance back at him, biting her lip in consternation.

Sensing the cause of her reluctance, Peter caught her eye and whispered hoarsely, “Tell me what ye think of when ye pleasure yerself.”

“You,” she answered immediately.  “I think of you.”  She gazed at him in undisguised wonder and smiled gently.

Peter’s hips rolled up beneath her and his breathing grew shallow.  “Show me,” he whispered.  “Show me what ye’d do.”

“Well,” she murmured, tracing the swell of her breasts beneath the lacy cups of her bra and letting his eyes follow her fingers, “I would leave this on, imaginin' your hands on me.”  She let her thumbs slide down to stroke her nipples and felt him grow harder beneath her.  His obvious reaction gave her courage and she fell into a trance, narrating her favorite fantasy.  “You have the most marvelous hands,” she gasped, letting her eyelids flutter shut as she stroked her belly, imagining his hands in place of her own.  She let her memory roam, moaning at remembered sensations.  “And when you come up behind me and kiss my neck,” she whispered, tilting her head and letting her hair spill down her back, “I can’t even begin to tell you what that does to me.  I can feel your lips all the way down to my toes when you do that.”  She shifted across his hips and he could see the outlines of her nipples, hard and erect, pressing against the lace.

“What else?” he forced out, breathing heavily.  “Tell me more.”  He shifted under her, pressing his erection firmly against her knickers and she knew they would have to go immediately.  She leaned down, pressing her breasts to his chest and dragging herself across him as she gave him a deep, teasing kiss.  As she slipped off him to stand beside the bed, he groaned at the loss of her skin and Donna decided to really give him something to groan about then.

“Well, I usually leave these on, too,” she admitted, hooking her thumbs in the sides of her knickers as she turned her back on him, “but for the sake of demonstration, I’ll take appropriate steps.”  She leaned over, slowly dragging the sheer blue fabric down and treating him to a show of her now naked arse. When she looked back over her shoulder at him, Peter was biting his lip so hard she was afraid he’d injure himself.  His cock stood out from his body, proud and erect, and she noted with satisfaction the bead of moisture glistening at the tip.  She leaned over and, letting her breasts nearly tumble from the low-cut lace, she licked the precome from the head of his cock and was rewarded with a low, shuddering cry from the man below her.  She slid back onto the bed and sat low across his hips, following the path his eyes blazed across her body.  They flicked back to her lips and his eyes begged her to continue.

“I imagine you here, with your clever fingers,” she breathed as she slipped her hand into the ginger curls between her legs. “Teasin', always teasin', but it feels sooo good,” she moaned.  She rose up on her knees, the fingers of one hand parting her curls so he could see while the other slipped inside the cup of her bra and lifted her breast free.  His eyes followed her movements and when her nipple peeked out just above the lace trim, his hips rocked up hard of their own volition.  “I like it when you tease me, when you make me wait,” she confessed with a moan as she lifted up and positioned herself just out of reach of his straining member.  “The anticipation is delicious.”

She waited until she knew his eyes were on the hand at her breast and she slowly drew her thumb up and across her nipple, teasing it further into a taut, hard peak.  Peter’s arms were pulling at the headboard now, his ineffectual struggles making his hips twist below her and she smiled.  His breath came now in short, heavy bursts and Donna wanted to see if she could stop it temporarily all on her own.

“Donna, please,” he ground out, eyes darting between the handcuffs securing him to his bed and her hands roaming across her body.  “Please, just...”

“No,” she said simply, regaining control of the scenario as her confidence increased.  “I’m givin’ you what you asked for.”  He whimpered before his expression grew dark and determined.

“Now my hands are never as good as your lips,” she sighed, “but I imagine you teasin' me.” She let her eyes fall shut as she lifted the other breast free, leaning forward slightly to give him a better view.  “Slowly, so slowly, makin' me wait, setting a pace designed to drive me mad,” she crooned as she purposely did the same to him.  She angled her hips so that the root of his cock was between the wet lips of her sex and she slowly dragged herself up and over him, keeping him trapped between them.  “It makes me so hot and so ready for you.”  Peter tugged violently at the headboard then and the whole bed shook, but Donna ignored it.

“But you know, I don’t do this often,” she confessed.  “It’s just a pale imitation and it always leaves me wantin’ more.  It’s never enough, not when what I really want is this,” she moaned as she shifted back, lying prone against his body.  She let her breasts settle on either side of his cock and was gratified to see him strain up a bit to watch her.  She licked the tip delicately then exhaled over it, loving the feel of his thighs flexing beneath her.  She licked the head of his cock again and he flopped back with a heartfelt groan.  She could taste traces of herself on him as she took him into her mouth, bobbing up and down a bit, shallow and slow at first before taking him deeper, relaxing her throat as she twirled her tongue along his shaft. He inhaled sharply in response and let loose a growl of frustration.

“Donna,” he grated out, “let me go.”  She knew what he wanted and she felt a deep twinge between her legs: she was as ready for him as he was for her, but she forced herself to complete what she’d started.

“I’m not finished,” she murmured against his skin.  She felt his thighs tremble beneath her and heard him curse desperately under his breath. She slipped back up and rose above him as he twisted beneath her, trying to find release.  She let his cock slide back and forth between her folds for just a moment and when he raised his head, when she knew he could see, she settled back and slowly sank down onto him.  Peter cried out as she pulled back, almost completely off him and rocked against him, just the tip of his cock playing in and out before pushing back down hard and fast.

“Donna, oh, god, Donna, yer gonna kill me yet,” he groaned and she moved faster, riding him in earnest, flinging her hair back and holding herself upright with one hand on his chest.  He was bucking wildly into her now, cursing and crying her name, and she could feel her climax getting ready to break over her.  She slipped her hand back between her legs and let one finger play over her clit as he pounded up into her and she cried out as she came.  She felt Peter’s legs strain beneath her as he arched up and she rode him hard, the dying tremors of her orgasm dragging him over the edge with her.  With one final thrust, he cried out, straining hard before collapsing beneath her as she lay across him, caressing his cheek and kissing him with trembling lips.

“Now I’m done,” Donna whispered as she laid her head back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as she wrapped her arms around him.

As his breathing slowly returned to something approaching normal, Peter closed his eyes and tried to embrace her.  The handcuffs clattered noisily against the wooden headboard and he raised his head to look at her.  “Donna,” he reminded her, “it’s my turn now.  Let me go so I can hold ye a bit?”

She grinned, tracing patterns on his skin and giggling when he twitched under her caress.  “Ticklish?” she teased, and he fought to keep himself still and his face neutral under her dancing fingers.  “I think I like the idea of havin’ you here like this,” she told him.  “Maybe I should leave you like this a bit longer?  I might have other things in mind, after all.”

“Aye, that ye could, but then, ye’d be missin’ out on what I want to do with ye.  I won’t disappoint, I promise,” Peter cajoled, lifting his arms as far as the cuffs would allow.

“The possibility never even crossed my mind,” she confessed.  “After all, you never have before.”  Donna leaned down for one last kiss in custody, smiling wickedly as she ground herself against Peter, eliciting another groan from the man beneath her.  Taking pity on him, she finally reached up to thumb the button to open the novelty handcuffs securing him to the bed- and she froze. She fumbled around, checking the other side of the cuffs, then looked back again at the side facing her.  She frowned and felt along both sides of the restraints, searching for a different kind of release- one that wasn’t there.

“Um, Peter.....,” Donna confessed nervously, “there’s no button on these handcuffs.”  She fumbled about, running her fingers over the metal, babbling nervously, “Why is there no release button on these handcuffs? I checked when I got them to make sure I knew what to do.”  She sat back, sliding off him and snatching up his shirt from the floor.  She slipped into it and jerked her knickers back on before she stood next to the bed, shifting from foot to foot in her anxiety.

“Donna. Donna, calm down, it’s OK,” Peter said soothingly.  He looked up at the handcuffs around his wrists and realized what the problem was. “It’s OK, Donna, they’re mine,” he explained, keeping his voice low and calm.

“Well, isn't that just wizard! They’re yours!” she fretted, tossing her head uneasily.  “That’s a consolation: at least they're quality!” she added under her breath and her head jerked back to him in confusion as a sickening wave of déjà vu swept over her.  She sat down awkwardly on the bed beside him, her hands trembling as a faint memory ghosted up against her present.

Wrapped up in the current mystery, Peter missed her mood shift, frowning for a moment as he considered the probable chain of events.  “They must’ve popped free from the case when ye tossed my belt across the floor and we got them mixed up as we came in.  That’s all,” he explained and Donna blinked and shook her head before she sighed.  Visibly upset, she looked at him pleadingly and Peter could see distressed tears starting to form.  “It’s no a problem: the key’s on my key ring in the pocket of my trousers,” he added.  She bit her lip and nodded her head, unconvinced.

"Donna, it's OK, I promise,” he said gently.  The last thing he wanted was for her to panic tonight and become uncomfortable with him, to shy away from any possibility of future erotic adventures. “Even if ye cannae find them, with the judicious application of a suitable lubricant,"  he grinned at her deepening flush before he continued, "olive oil, for instance-I can work my way out.  Ye were a bit timid, love.  Ye stopped at the first position and dinnae fasten them down properly.

“I didn’t want to take a chance that I’d hurt you,” she admitted, turning to him and gently touching his face.  “I just wanted to...” she said before she blushed even deeper and looked away.  “I’m so sorry, Peter,” she whispered.

“I’m no,” he replied, a smile playing about his lips.  “This was amazin’ and I’d do it again, even knowin’ this would occur.”  When she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he told her, “Donna, I loved it.  Really.  This’ll make a great story to tell our...” he paused, considering.  “Well, I’m no sure who we’d ever tell, but still.  This will make a great story, eh?”  She smiled sadly and hugged herself before slowly getting up.

“I’ll just go get your keys, then, shall I?” she said unsteadily and went back to the living room to retrieve them. She picked up his abandoned trousers from the floor and felt around in his pockets, drawing out the empty wrappers from two lollies and another one still wrapped in plastic, his mobile, some loose change, and a crumpled receipt.  “Peter,” she cried as panic started to set in, “they’re not here!”  She doubled over and buried her face in her hands, moaning, “Oh, this is soooo shamin’!  Oh, lord, oh, no, no, no!”  She whirled around frantically, and spying her bag, snatched it up and dumped the contents out on the table in the vain hope that his keys had somehow ended up there.

“Perfect.  Just perfect,” she groaned desolately when her search failed to locate the missing keys.  She suddenly stood straight up, a full blown panic attack imminent as a horrible thought occurred to her.  “Oh!  NO!,” she wailed, “Peter, what if you can’t work your way out?  I’m gonna have to call the police for a spare key!  Oh, no, no, no, what have I done?  What have I done to you!”  She grabbed her head and bit her lip, closing her eyes and rocking back and forth.

“Donna, ye dinnae seriously think this hasn’t happened to nearly every police officer at one time or another?  It’s all but an occupational hazard,” Peter called out loudly.  He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation, but Donna was too upset: here he was, handcuffed to his own bed with his own handcuffs, completely starkers and thoroughly shagged, and yet he was yelling down the hall, trying to comfort Donna from two rooms away.

“They’re not here, they’re not here, they’re not here,” Donna chanted as she franticly searched.

Peter could hear the rising panic in her voice but he knew it was unwarranted.  “Donna, love, calm down,” he shouted down the hall to her, raising his head.  “We came in with the keys.  They’re here.  It’s all right, love.”  He laid back on the bed for a moment, picturing his flat, recalling his actions as they had entered earlier.  “Try lookin’ on the table,” he added.

“They’re not there, either,” she all but shouted, moving back to the kitchen to see if he’d laid them on the counter.  Shame and embarrassment welled up inside, threatening to overwhelm her and she felt the first tear slip down her cheek.  “Where could they be?”

“Donna, be calm.  Stop and think- I remember tossin’ them on the table,” he told her.  “If they’re no on the table, they must be on the floor near it.”

“But I looked,” Donna said with a sob.  “I promise I did.”

“Donna,” Peter said calmly, “I know ye did, but look again.  Please?  Get down on the floor and look- maybe they’re up against the baseboards?  Or the bookcases?  Just look again.”

Donna took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm herself.  If Peter wasn’t panicked, then she shouldn’t panic, either.  She closed here eyes for a moment, trying to remember what had happened when they came into his flat and she got down on her knees.  She vaguely remembered the sound of his keys sliding across the table and she looked along the possible lines of trajectory.  With a cry of triumph, she reached out and snagged them from their hiding place, against the far wall and under the drapes.

“Found them!” she exclaimed, leaping up and running down the hall back to the bedroom, holding the keys high before her.  She skidded to a stop beside the bed and fumbled with them for a moment until she found a long, cylindrical key and bent down to release him.  Donna sighed in relief as the first cuff popped free and he drew his hands back down and away from the bed.  She released the other wrist and gently rubbed the faint mark left behind with both hands as he wrapped his arms around her.  She snatched the cuffs up from where they’d fallen and made to fling them down the hall when he reached up and stayed her hand.

“Donna Noble,” he murmured as he drew her down next to him, wiping away traces of tears from her face.  He kissed her neck as he ran his hand down the length of her arm and gently retrieved his handcuffs from her grasp.  "Ye're quite sexy when ye're flustered."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know SOCA turned down your Freedom of Information request,” DS Ian Turner said as he closed the door behind him and tossed a slim folder onto the desk of DI Peter Carlisle, “so I took another route.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- You made me better.

**Friday, 8 June 2012 7:58 AM**

“I know SOCA turned down your Freedom of Information request,” DS Ian Turner said as he closed the door behind him and tossed a slim folder onto the desk of DI Peter Carlisle, “so I took another route.”

Peter gaped at his partner in silence, stunned and taken aback.  Before Ian had barged in, Peter had hardly had time to get to his desk, much less drink the cappuccino he’d picked up at the coffee shop across the way.  He’d had a bit of a late night, and wasn’t expecting to be ambushed by his partner, but Ian had obviously been lying in wait for some time.

“I’m sorry?” Peter said, blinking and setting his coffee down before he shucked off his coat.  “SOCA...what?  I havenae heard from... Wait, how did you even know I..,” Peter said, fumbling about mentally, his voice rising as followed the logical trail from Ian’s statement to his own actions.  He rubbed his eyes and shook his head before he refocused on Ian.

“Friends....and relatives.... in high places,” Ian said offhandedly by way of explanation, shrugging as Peter picked up the file before him.

“Ye...ye were able to query the databases at Serious Organized Crime?” Peter stuttered as he thumbed through the sheaf of papers.  In his hands were the results of a dozen searches that would have taken months to obtain through normal channels, if they’d been possible to obtain at all.  His eyes widened in surprise as the saw the neat and orderly traces Donna left behind in her ordinary life abruptly halt in the official records and then resume just as suddenly, confirming the findings of his own investigation.

“And all branches of the military.  Oh, and MI6 as well,” Ian replied, trying for modest but obviously pleased with himself.  “You can rule those possibilities right out.  Donna wasn’t in government service during her missing time.”

“Ye want to tell me how ye managed this feat of, quite frankly, amazin' detective work?” Peter asked, looking up at Ian.  He reached for his cappuccino and took a gulp before absently fiddling with his tie as he flipped through the documents.  Donna had tied the new maroon tie for him that morning, between kisses, and had nestled the knot perfectly against his collar, but it was a bit snugger than he usually wore: his fingers slipped up beneath the knot to loosen it slightly as he read.

“Simple, actually,” Ian replied.  “I got Ms. Noble’s background details from the witness list on the Morgan case and then I used that information to recommended her for a job at the National Security Council.  I asked the secretary to look into her background to see if she’d qualify.”

“Ye did what?” Peter sputtered around a mouthful of coffee.  “Ye’ve never even met her!”

“You said she was part of the clerical staff at Cheltenham & Gloucester and they’re meticulous about the level of service they expect from their employees.  You also intimated that she was amazingly organized- exactly the qualities they’re looking for in the position.  That, coupled with the fact that you don’t suffer fools gladly;  it was enough for me to feel confident in my recommendation,” Ian said, pointing at Peter.  “And Donna passed the cursory check, so she’d be qualified to go through a complete background check- which means she doesn’t have a file anywhere.  If she did, it would have turned up in the search,” Ian said reasonably.  He paused for a moment and scratched at his chin.  “Well, almost anywhere.  There may be one more place she could’ve worked, but it’s pretty far-fetched.”

At Peter’s questioning expression, Ian clarified.  “UNIT.  UNIT is the only defense organization to which the Secretary of State doesn’t have unrestricted access.  But with the background assessment, they’ll be checking their records as well.  It’ll just take a bit more time, is all.”

Peter sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and running his tongue over his back teeth.  “And ye know this, were able to find out all this because...?” he finally asked.

“It’s my mum’s office.  I had lunch with her the other day and I might have mentioned you in passing.  And my mum, she loves a good mystery and she’s an even bigger pushover for a romance.  Your story- you and Donna- it has all the elements of both.  In fact, by the time lunch was over, my mum was the one who suggested doing the search,” Ian confessed with a droll smile dancing on his lips.  “And don’t worry, it was all done discreetly.  Only my mum and I know.”

Peter’s jaw stiffened for just a moment out of habit before he sniffed and looked up.  “Thank you, Ian,” Peter muttered, nodding slowly as he digested all he’d heard.  “Ye went above and beyond.  I appreciate it.”  Then, as the caffeine finally hit his system, his head jerked up in alarm.  “Wait, ye dinnae explain- how did ye know my request had been turned down?” he demanded.  “And this search, will it no get your mum in trouble?  I donae want that.”

“Oh, no.  It’s only a routine inquiry to see if Donna’d be qualified to go through a more thorough background check,” Ian said dismissively.  “The purpose was just to see if she already had a record anywhere in any of the databases.  It’s not anything classified or restricted.”  He leaned over and plucked a green sheet from the bottom of the stack inside the folder.  He put it on top of the folder and tapped it with a finger.  “She passed the initial placement requirement, by the way.”

Peter picked up the report and smirked slightly at the assessment, shaking his head before returning his attention to Ian.  “Still,” he said abruptly, “I’d hate to jeopardize your mum’s standing or have her do anything that might reflect badly on her.”

Ian’s pleased smile grew sly and he leaned on the door, his hand on the knob.  “Don’t worry, Peter,” he said, “when I said my mum is the secretary, I meant the Secretary of State, for the Home Department.”  Peter’s head jerked up again and Ian enjoyed the look of shock that passed over his features.  “Oh, and by the way, tell Donna I like the new tie,” Ian added as he closed the door behind him. 

**********

**Saturday, 9 June 2012 3:38 AM**

Peter awoke to the crash of thunder and the disconcerting sensation of a cold bed in an unfamiliar room.   He rolled over, momentarily disoriented and rubbed his face briskly with both hands, breathing in deeply and blinking in an effort to regain his bearings. The room was suddenly starkly lit by a flash of lightning and the violence of the storm outside the bedroom window surprised him.   Usually a light sleeper,  if he'd been at home, he was sure he never would have been able to sleep as the storm built to the crescendo playing out over the streets of Chiswick.  But he wasn't home and the bed shouldn't be half empty. At that moment, Peter Carlisle decided he never wanted to wake alone in the dark again and he wouldn't, not if he had any say at all in the matter.

Climbing out of bed, he stretched and took note of his surroundings. Gone were the clothes, carelessly strewn about Donna's bedroom floor, evidence of the activities in which they'd indulged a few hours before.  Peter smiled as he noticed a robe hung on a hook near the bed with a pair of socks tucked into the pocket- she'd noticed he didn't wear slippers at home, but her wooden floors were colder than his carpeted ones.

He slipped on the robe, leaving the socks in the pocket and quietly padded about Donna's flat, glancing in the open door to the loo before checking the living room and the kitchen. Peter could hear the storm raging outside and briefly wondered if Donna had gone out to check her plants, but the door was still locked and a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the empty garden beyond the entryway windows.  When his cursory search failed to reveal the whereabouts of his missing lover, Peter stood in the center of the living room and slowly scanned the flat, considering his next move.  As his eyesight readjusted to the gloom, he could just make out a faint glimmer leaking from the top of the spiral staircase set in the farthest corner of the living room.  Peter had never been on the second level in Donna's flat and he called her name quietly before climbing the stairs.

As he reached the top of the staircase, Peter found her tucked into a nest of pillows in the window seat beneath one of the huge dormers overlooking the park below.  She was clearly trying to puzzle something out, muttering to herself under the light cast by the small pendant lamp hung over her shoulder as her eyes darted between a book propped open on her knees and a paperback in her hands. She tugged her earbuds out and hung them around her neck and Peter could hear the muted strains of some Adele song as Donna started on her study again. She chewed on her thumb, frowning at something she'd just read before stretching her arms out and throwing her head back with a snort of disgust.

After a moment, Donna sighed heavily and prepared to return to her reading when she flinched slightly at a bright flash and loud crash of thunder just outside the window.  She glanced back into the room and caught sight of Peter on the stairs, starting so violently that she lost her book behind the cushions surrounding her.

“Oh, bloody hell, Policeman- don’t sneak up on me like that!  You nearly gave me a flippin’ attack!” Donna gasped, breathing heavily.  Her hand twitched instinctively towards her fallen volume before she remembered herself and pushed her hair back off her forehead nervously.

"Donna, I'm so sorry," Peter apologized as he made his way across the unfinished room to her, “but I wasnae sneakin’: ye were engrossed.”  He sank down onto a cushion near her knees with a bashful smile.  "It wasnae my intention to startle ye, but I dinnae want to risk disturbin' yer neighbors with searchin' for ye."

Smiling despite herself, Donna shut the book on her knees and pulled it to her chest. "Don't you fret about that, Policeman," she laughed. "Flats this close to Turnham Green Station?  The architects added double-paned windows and extra insulation when they renovated the building.  You could yell at the top of your lungs and the neighbors might  _barely_  hear a squeak."  She reached out and tousled his hair as he laid a warm hand on her ankle.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, openly searching her face. Sharing a bed with someone was difficult for some people, he reckoned, especially if they were accustomed to sleeping alone, but not for him. Peter had been surprised at how easily he'd been able to fall asleep since they'd been together, even in her unfamiliar bedroom.  In her arms, all the chaos and cacophony of the day fell away: in her bed, the clamor of his thoughts stilled and Peter found blessed peace.

“Well, it’s not as though it’s a quiet night, is it, what with the storm outside and the thunder and lightnin’?  I honestly don’t know how you can manage to sleep at all!  It’s the convergence of the cold front from the north and the warm air coming off the jet stream: all that’s playin’ havoc with our weather, the result of which is this torrential rainstorm.  I mean, essentially, the main culprit is that six-mile high jet stream- it’s stuck in a rut and that’s the reason for all this rain we’ve been havin’ ” Donna babbled in her nervousness, “and I’m a bit sensitive to conditions that herald an oncoming storm.”  She stopped abruptly, embarrassed when she realized Peter was studying her and befuddled at her own outburst.  “I must’ve heard all that from the weatherman or somethin’,” she finished weakly as he reached for her hand.

Peter recognized by now the telltale signs that her past was pressing up against her present as Donna blinked hard but he was surprised to see that during her ramblings, for once, her hands remained steady. For the first time since he’d noted her unconscious tic, the subtle tell that meant Donna was teetering on the edge of the chasm between who she was and who she had been, she wasn’t searching for what he knew must have been the ring that had once sat upon her finger.   He wasn’t quite sure why this change in her behavior made his heartbeat stutter in his chest, but he was glad of it all the same.  Experimentally, he stroked her ring finger with his thumb and was rewarded with a bright smile and a quick kiss, but nothing else.

“So it was just the rain, then?” he prompted gently when Donna remained quiet, and she knew he’d sussed out there was more to it than she was letting on.

She sighed and gave him a rueful smile, again wondering why she even bothered to try and hide anything from him.  “I had a bad dream,” she confessed, carefully choosing her words.  “Every now and then, I have this dream, and it’s confusin’.  I can hear a voice- it sounds as if it’s miles and miles away- and it’s sayin’ to me that I’m not special, or powerful, or connected, that I’m not clever or important...” Peter’s face hardened and he opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off.

“I’m not saying I believe it, Copper, but I dream it,” she said defensively.  “But here’s the weird part.  At the  **same time** , I can hear the  **same voice** , telling me the exact opposite, and it’s maddenin’.”  She started to throw her hands up in disgust, but tightened her grip on her forgotten book instead.  “When I’m asleep, I know it, I know who it is, but when I wake up, it’s just a faint echo and it slips away into the darkness.”  She glanced out the window for a moment, watching the wind whip the trees in the park into a frenzy as the rain pelted against the glass.

Peter watched her slip into melancholy and set about pulling her back.  He got up on his knees and leaned in close, dipping his hand behind the cushion beside her to retrieve the book she had dropped earlier.  When he looked up at Donna and noticed the flush slowly spreading across her cheeks, he became aware of the fact that she'd been hoping he’d missed it and he realized belatedly that he was invading her privacy.  He made a point of not looking at the book as he handed it back to her, which only served to make her feel guilty.

If any other being in creation had caught her out as he just had, Donna would have made short work of biting off the head of the offender and spitting it back out at them, but not Peter.  She felt the heat radiating from his long, lean form as he had leant over her and she bit back on a habitual retort. His eyes never left hers as he handed back her book, and she felt that now-familiar prickling sensation in her eyes as she realized he knew she was hiding something: he knew, but he chose not to pry.  She had a Detective Inspector- and a good one, at that- literally sitting at her feet with the solution to a mystery actually in his grasp, but in an act of will that probably defied every instinct he had, Peter Carlisle backed away because it might cause her pain.  Donna closed her eyes and bit her lip for a moment before slowly taking the book from his hand, turning it over and holding it up so that he could see.

Peter read the title and asked, puzzled, “ ‘The Sonnets of William Shakespeare’?  Why were ye hidin' that?”  He took the book back from her and flipped through it, finding the spot the book naturally opened to and pointing to the page with a questioning tilt of his head.  She nodded and blushed even deeper as he started reading before finally answering his question.

“You caught me cheatin’,” she said quietly as she reluctantly turned over the slim volume she’d been hugging to her chest.

"What?  Whatever do ye mean?” Peter wanted to know, taking the second book as she extended it to him and frowning when he read the title.  “A Key to Shakespeare's Sonnets?  Why do ye feel this is somethin’ worthy of secrecy, sneakin’ off to read it in the middle of the night? And why are ye doin’ this a’tall?”  He handed it back to her and reached up to brush the hair back from her eyes.  He cupped her cheek, tilting her head slightly to meet his gaze.  “I donae understand.”

“Well, you mentioned maybe goin’ to the Shakespeare Festival the other day and I thought I’d brush up a bit, especially on the cadence of the language,” she said offhandedly, pulling the headsets from around her neck and thumbing off the music still playing on her phone.

Peter moved from the floor to sit beside her and Donna pulled her knees up to her chest to make room for him.  He smiled and gently drew her legs back down so they rested on his lap and as he leaned back against the window.  “Why did ye choose these?” he asked, browsing through the sonnets to give her time to formulate a response.  He needn’t have bothered.

“Honestly?  You like poetry and quoting Shakespeare, so I figured if I asked, you’d recommend these,” she admitted a bit too quickly.

“Aye, I probably would’ve.  But ye dinnae ask,” he pointed out.  When Donna didn’t respond, he continued.  “Before ye knew I was there, ye took yer headsets out.  Why?”

“I couldn’t read the sonnets, not with the music playin’ “ she confessed.  “It was like tryin’ to listen to two different songs at the same time, and I couldn’t hear either properly.”

He lifted his eyebrow and gave her a lopsided smile, impressed with her logic.  “That’s good,” he murmured.  “Lyrics are just poetry set to music, after all.  But why did ye hide?  I was concerned when I woke and couldnae find ye.”

“I told you,” she said with an embarrassed laugh.  “I’m cheatin’, readin’ this instead of just bein’ smart enough to do it on my own.”  She thumped the study guide with one hand and tried to smile, but it wasn’t genuine.

Peter reached for the study guide and set it down, taking her hands in his own.  “Donna, there’s nothin’ wrong with what ye’re doing.  Ye wouldnae be embarrassed to take a class, would ye?” he cajoled.

She shook her head. “Course not,” she huffed, throwing her hair back over her shoulder.

He smiled and explained.  “The only time someone should be embarrassed about these is if they’re readin’ them  **instead**  of the original work.  These?” he continued, “They’re nothin' more than teacher’s notes, to guide yer study.  But for Sonnets?”  His look was truly questioning as he turned to her more fully.

“I dunno, Peter...the words are lovely, but .... I feel like I’m missin’ somethin’...somethin’ obvious,” she admitted sadly, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the wall.  She could see the park bench across the way, illuminated in a flash of lightning that crashed outside the window and she was thankful for the warmth and light surrounding her.

Peter thought for a long moment before he continued.  “Donna, ye have the right idea,” he began, and she snorted derisively.  “Ye do!” he insisted, “but the wrong technique.  Sonnets are meant to be read aloud, to be heard and felt.”  He shook his head and looked at the book in his hand.  “People sometimes forget Shakespeare wrote plays- they’re meant to be performed, to be experienced by an audience; they’re not just flat words on a page.  His sonnets are the poetry of love, meant to be recited, by a lover to a lover.”  Donna watched him, mesmerized as he became more animated, as his voice rose in intensity but not volume.  “The words on the page lack the fire and passion of the performer, the human element, the feelings behind the words.  Without the soul animating the words, they’re a bit flat and lifeless.  Love gives it meaning.”  He turned back to her suddenly and ducked his head, a tiny bit abashed at his unintentional lecture.  “After, ye can go back and read for details in the commentary,” he finished, watching for her reaction while pulling at his ear.

Donna broke into a grin and reached out to retrieve her book.  “Alright then,” she said with a mischievous grin.  She had no idea why he was acting embarrassed, but he loved the bashful look on his face. She was starting to get tired and decided going back to bed would be nice, especially as Peter was awake. “I’ll do as you suggest and try that later.”

“No, not later,” he replied, tugging the book back from her with one hand and letting the fingertips of his other hand trail across her open palm.  “Let me help now.”  He shifted his position, leaning back against the wall opposite her and opening his legs.  He patted the space between and smiled, raising his eyebrows suggestively and laughing when she smirked at him in response.  Donna settled back against him and he crooked one leg up, resting his arm on his knee and encircling her when he raised the book to read aloud.

“This is where ye were, right?” he asked, indicating a page, his breath warm against her ear.

"Yeah, right there, Policeman,” she said, shivering as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in response to his proximity.  She shifted carefully, nestling closer to his chest and sliding down slightly so as not to obstruct his view.

“Sonnet 17- good choice,” he said quietly before he began to read aloud.

 

     “Who will believe my verse in time to come,

     If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?

     Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb

     Which hides your life and shows not half your parts”

 

As Peter read, Donna felt her body relax and her stress and worry fall away.  She marveled at the way his voice caressed the words on the page and brought them to life.  The more he read, the more she wondered why she hadn’t just told him in the beginning when she first decided to read all those books she should have read in school, starting with Shakespeare.  She’d seen most of them on his bookshelf and she was reasonably sure he’d not only lend them to her, but maybe even discuss them with her.  She closed her eyes and fell in love with the sound of his voice all over again. 

 

     “If I could write the beauty of your eyes

     And in fresh numbers number all your graces,

     The age to come would say 'This poet lies:

     Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.”

 

Donna smiled at the touch of outrage he injected into his performance for her and thought the world had lost a fine actor the day Peter had decided to become a policeman.  She grinned suddenly, thinking of what he’d look like in tights before falling under the spell of his voice once more.

 

     So should my papers yellow'd with their age

     Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,

     And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage

     And stretched metre of an antique song:

 

Peter’s voice dropped into almost a whisper and he pulled her closer as he read the last two lines in her ear.

 

     But were some child of yours alive that time,

     You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

 

When he finished reading, he let the book droop, still held in the hand resting on his knee and he caressed her hair with the other hand as she lay back against his chest.  Donna turned in his arms to reach up and caress his face: she knew, without a shadow of a doubt that she loved Peter Carlisle and that he loved her in turn.  She knew his heart belonged to her, with every fibre of her being, but there was a difference between knowing something and believing it.  He looked at her expectantly and she searched for something safe to say.

“I never realized he was so awfully keen to have children...” she finally offered with a hint of mischief in her voice.

“Well, most of the sonnets were actually written to a young man the speaker was tryin’ to persuade to do just that, but they can be read either way, really,” Peter explained and he enjoyed the startled look that Donna gave him in return.

“Really?  A bloke?  I'd have never guessed...,” she mused.  “They’re beautiful, especially when you read them,” she admitted quietly.  “Thank you.  I see what you mean now.  I’ll read them aloud or at least hear them in my head in your voice.  It’s good to have somethin’ new to read.”  She reached for the book in his hand, intending to put it away, but Peter held on tightly.  Donna looked up and frowned, wondering what he was doing.

He studied her confused expression and regarded her thoughtfully.  "I'm glad to be of service," he finally said with just a trace of leer before turning serious.  "But that still doesnae explain why ye're really doin' this."

Donna suddenly became fascinated with the trim on the pillow beside her.  "I just don't want you to get bored with me, is all,” she finally confessed after a small eternity.  “They say relationships don't last when there's a disparity in education, when one person is much smarter than the other," she finished quietly, looking at the book she held. “I mean, I don’t think I’m stupid or anythin’,” she said defensively, “but you...”  The rest of her declaration was lost as Peter spun her in his arms and kissed her soundly.

“Oh, Donna, love, we’ve been over this before.  Ye’re all I need and more than I deserve,” Peter whispered against her lips before kissing her again.  “And ye're beyond brilliant.” His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer and Donna melted, remembering the emotion in his voice and feeling it reflected in his embrace.

Donna rested her head against his for a moment before leaning back and tossing her hair over her shoulder.  “And don’t you forget it, Copper,” she shot back breathlessly with a bravado she almost felt.

“Come back to bed, love,” Peter whispered, pulling her again to his lips as the rain gently beat against the window outside.  “It’s hours yet before dawn.”

**********

**Saturday  9 June 2012  5:15 AM**

“Major, a word?” said Lieutenant Nathan briskly as he matched her stride for stride.  The major had wanted immediate feedback, but a minor skirmish with a particularly nasty infestation of Weevils in the North had kept her otherwise engaged and in her absence, Lieutenant Nathan had been especially thorough.  The information within the folders he held now would wait no longer.  “There's been another hit. We’ve known that someone had been searching for things relating to the Doctor, but this time, a request has come through other channels.”

Major Mugumbo’s eyes hardened and she did not slow her pace. “What do we know?” she asked, turning towards her office.  “The same man as before?”

“This is the chain of events as far as we can tell,” Lieutenant Nathan replied.  “The first hit came by way of the Metropolitan Police force on 20 April of this year.  It started out as just a routine search on Ms. Noble, perhaps a bit more in-depth than one would expect, but nothing more than that.  Ms. Noble had been a witness at a crime scene and perhaps the DI wanted to establish her credibility,” the Lieutenant said with a shrug, entering the Major’s office after her.  “After that, though, this DI Carlisle stared using his position to investigate Ms. Noble’s activities in a very narrow period of time. And from there, he started digging about into things best left alone, specifically the events surrounding the Adipose and the Christmas Star incident.”

The Lieutenant extended his arm smartly, offering Major Mugumbo one of the slim brown folders he carried marked Confidential.  She opened it, glancing at the results of the Lieutenant’s investigation before asking, “Where does the new request originate?“

“Our analysts have tracked it back to the Home Office, directly from the Secretary herself,” Lieutenant Lewis replied carefully, “in response to a request for employment, apparently.”

“Coincidence then?” suggested Major Mugumbo with a raised eyebrow that suggested she believed nothing of the sort.

“That’s what I thought, initially, but not anymore,” the lieutenant replied calmly.  He tapped a paper in the folder the major had opened on her desk.  “Look at this- this Detective Carlisle, he has a partner in the Met.  I took the liberty of opening an investigation on him as well,” Lieutenant Lewis admitted as he handed over a second dossier, flipping it open to an official photograph from the personnel files at the Met.  ‘One Ian Turner.  Turns out he’s the son of the Home Secretary; a child of her first marriage, hence the different name.”  He stood back, returning to a more formal posture.

The major studied both folders before her, muttering under her breath, “That bloody bastard: he’s found himself an inside track.”

Lieutenant Lewis stifled a quick smile of triumph with nothing more than a fleeting quirk of the lips to betray him.  “But that’s not all, Major.”

“What?  What else has this man Carlisle done?” Major Mugumbo demanded.  She sat back, glaring at Lieutenant Lewis.  The lieutenant had an irritating flair for the dramatic, but he was good at his job, so she was prepared to allow him a bit of leeway, but only a bit.

“That's the strange thing, Mum,” he replied, opening the last file he held and pulling out a photograph and considering it momentarily with a tiny frown.

Major Mugumbo tamped down her exasperation and ordered, “Explain yourself.”

“Well, I know you've met the Doctor before, face to face. I've also had the honor, if you’ll remember,” Lieutenant Nathan said, his jaw stiffening.  “I was on the bus at San Helios.”  Major Mugumbo nodded and he continued.  “This is the photo obtained from the Met of Detective Inspector Carlisle,” he stated as he passed it to Major Mugumbo.  She stared at it in surprise, lifting her eyes back to the lieutenant’s face as he continued.  “And this,” he said as he produced a second photo, presenting it to her with a flourish, “was taken from security footage during the Burning Sky incident.”  He tapped the desk indicating both photos as the major studied them in disbelief.  “This might explain his recent disappearance from the stage of human events of late,” he finished with a speculative tilt of his head.

“How is this even possible?” Major Mugumbo wondered aloud.  “You’ve done a background check on this DI Carlisle?” she demanded.

“Of course, Mum,” the lieutenant answered evenly.  “There’s a proper history for him, records all the way back to birth, but when dealing with this man and what he’s capable of, what does that prove?”  He shrugged again before remembering himself and returning to proper military form.

Major Mugumbo stared at the two photographs in turn and reached a decision.  “He must have his reasons,” she concluded and she stood abruptly, handing back the documents she’d been shown. “Continue to monitor the situation closely, but under no circumstances do you interfere with him. Is that perfectly clear? Under no circumstances do you interfere with whatever the Doctor is up to!”

Major Mugumbo saluted Lieutenant Lewis in dismissal and continued to stand after the man had returned the salute and spun on his heel to leave.  As he reached the door, she added quietly “And good work, Lieutenant.”

 

[Oh, and here's a little present for you, by way of saying thanks for reading.  Be prepared to melt.](https://www.dropbox.com/s/c1vmusnf82z5c6c/PC_Sonnet%2017.mp3)

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We need to talk," said Ian quietly as he walked up beside Peter and waited for the lift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- better than banana cupcakes with edible ball bearings.

**Monday, 11 June 2012  3:48 PM**

"We need to talk," said Ian quietly as he walked up beside Peter and waited for the lift.   He looked straight ahead but tapped the folder in his hand meaningfully as he stepped aside to let the passengers exit before entering the now empty lift.  Already curious, Peter was even more intrigued when Ian pointedly pressed the button to close the door before Lab Tech Chapman could rush across the lobby to join them.  Peter turned his head to hide his smirk at the astonished look on the young man's face when Ian smiled and waved behind the closing doors.

Still amused, Peter leaned back against the wall of the lift and asked "What is it?  Did we finally get a break on the Morgan case and Bence?" He reached for the folder and was surprised when Ian ignored him and walked out as the doors opened on their floor.

"No, afraid not," Ian replied, heading straight for Peter's office. He waited for Peter to enter before closing the door and laying the folder down on the desk. "No, this concerns Donna. Donna, and your past."  He turned and waited patiently before finally prompting, "Is there anything you want to tell me, DI?"

Peter swallowed awkwardly: he had always known this day was coming.  It was inevitable, really, working in a profession that required and rewarded canny, curious people.  He had foolishly thought that if he'd just keep his head down, keep to his own concerns, and be all work and no play, he could quietly go about the daily business of living and fade into the background. He'd hoped to leave his past behind him, in Blackpool where it belonged. But no- he had broken his own rules and had gotten involved. Worse, he'd started to form attachments- friendships even- and had begun to trust people again.  He looked across at Ian, trying to decide where to begin when his partner sighed and flipped open the folder.   Ian looked at Peter expectantly while pushing a photograph across the desk.

"Again, DI, is there something going on here I need to know?"  He tapped the picture, directing Peter's attention to an image that appeared to have been taken by a security camera; for once, a clear image that was undeniably Donna Noble.

She was wearing an outfit he'd never seen, her hair a little longer, her face a little younger.  Peter estimated that the photo had been taken, at most, three years earlier.   She was standing in the midst of a group of uniformed men, one eyebrow cocked, a triumphant smile on her face as she dangled an empty binder in front of them. His eyes darted to the man standing beside her and he frowned before relief flooded him and he realized what he was being asked.

"Ian, that's no me: that's Dr. Smith, Donna's mystery man," Peter told him and everything started falling into place.  "He's the bloke she mistook me for that first night.  Donna met him once at her home; she thinks he might know somethin' about her disappearance and what happened to her.  Where did ye come by this?" he asked, grinning madly. It was the first clear photo he had of them together and he darted around his desk to jerk open the drawer.  "I wasnae sure before, but now?,” he continued, eyes feverish with the triumph of discovery as he pulled out his own research folder and produced two photos.  “It's them!  Look- this is from the same night as the Christmas Star incident, the night the Thames was drained," he cried.  Stabbing his finger at the next photo, he continued, "And this!  This is was taken at Adipose Industries, the same night as that mass panic attack occurred, when all those people on those diet pills fell ill.”  Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, recalling the unsettling sensation of having something- several somethings- rolling and shifting beneath his skin and said nothing.

"Oh, Ian, this..." Peter murmured, shaking his head and looking at the evidence spread before him, "this is exactly what I've been searchin' for. This from UNIT?  Is this what ye got back from your request?"  Peter stood back, still comparing the photos and trying to get a sense of time based on the images.  “Who is this man?  How did ye find this?” he asked Ian, turning back to him and his smile dimmed as he saw the expression on his partner’s face.

Ian shook his head and looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, yes this came from UNIT, but no, not directly from the Home Office request," he confessed. "The investigation took what could be termed an unexpected turn."

"What do you mean?  How, unexpected?" Peter asked, suddenly subdued.  Ian sighed and pulled another sheet from the folder and handed it to Peter.

"This is what we got in response to our request: a single sheet, obviously taken out of context, heavily redacted with Noble being the only important word visible. I guess they figured this would shut us up- nothing to see here- or warn us off. Either way, it didn't work," Ian finished with a shrug.

“What, like someone’s coverin’ up Donna’s past purposely?” Peter asked, frowning as he scanned the document, trying to fill in the blanks.

“Looks like,” replied Ian and he momentarily considered leaving it at that before he looked across at Peter’s determined face.

“So how did ye come by this?” Peter ventured slowly.

Ian scratched his head.  "Well, Mum's assistant didn't like the answer he got to our request, so he took matters into his own hands.  Perry's used to getting results," he admitted. "He called in a few favors and through a friend of a friend, he had someone look into the matter.  Today, he received a photo of this same page from the original file. It was the only one with Donna’s name on it in a much larger file, but it was highly classified."

Peter took the second photo, slightly blurry and obviously taken in haste. It was an image of the page he held in his hand, but whole and intact. The narrative started mid-sentence, obviously taken from a longer document. He sat on the edge of his desk and began to read.

“...who, as a former associate, was able to contact the Doctor and call him in as a consultant in this matter.  He brought with him his current assistant, a Ms. Donna Noble, who proved invaluable in the investigation. Ms. Noble’s research and organizational skills combined with her quick, intuitive thinking lead directly to the vital clue needed to penetrate the defenses of the enemy.”  Peter glanced up from reading and Ian took it as a request to continue.

"The friend?  She apparently snapped a picture with a mobile she managed to smuggle in. Said there was more in the file, but it would cost her her job if anything else got out.  Perry said the girl was frightened by what she saw in that file. She wouldn't say more.”  Ian paused to look at Peter curiously: the DI hadn’t said a word since he began reading the purloined page from the files of UNIT.  Peter nodded absently but his attention was still on the file in his hand.

“Later, when Ms. Noble was inadvertently placed in the line of fire, she acquitted herself bravely, actually engaging the enemy after deciphering a code transmitted by the Doctor and thereby enabling him to defeat the Sontarans.  She was present in the final moments, at the risk of her own life, when the device that ultimately saved the world was detonated.  After the Burning Sky incident, Ms. Noble disappeared again with the Doctor.”

Peter blanched slightly and looked back up at Ian.  “Donae...donae have anyone else put themselves at risk for this.”  He waited until Ian nodded and returned his attention to the page in his hand.

“Personality Evaluation:

Ms. Noble is an extremely able assistant to the Doctor, and although UNIT would have undoubtably prevailed in the Burning Sky incident without her assistance, her timely observations no doubt saved many lives whilst she selflessly put herself at risk.  However, despite her bravery and intelligence, Ms. Noble was openly suspicious and dismissive of UNIT motivations and practices, if not outright contemptuous of chain of command.  She was vociferous, obstreperous and displayed disrespect for authority and therefore is deemed unsuited to working with the Unified Intelligence Task Force in future.  Unlike previous associates of the Doctor, attempting to persuade Ms. Noble to accept employment with UNIT, should she ever leave the company of the Doctor, would not be advisable despite her obvious value.”

Peter grinned despite himself and read the last sentence on the page with some trepidation.

“It is believed that Ms. Noble continued to travel with the Doctor, at least until...”

DI Carlise shifted, sitting heavily in his chair and leaning on his desk. He steepled his fingers and rested his forehead against them as he considered the information before him.   _What the bloody hell had Donna been involved in?  Was her memory loss accidental or was it the tip of something more sinister?_  Peter never doubted Donna's sincerity- he was positive she truly couldn't remember her past, but why?  He'd heard rumors- everyone in law enforcement had- of some shadowy team, supposedly above top secret and totally autonomous. According to the stories, if you had the misfortune of encountering them and you were lucky, you'd never remember. If you were unlucky?  Well, there were plenty of unsolved disappearances on the books...  He was brought back to the moment by Ian's voice over his shoulder.

"Peter, how much do you know about Donna and what she was involved with?  And who is this man?" Ian asked, tapping the photos. "This isn't a normal missing persons' case."

"It's a long story, and I donnae know much of it," Peter reluctantly admitted. "Problem is, neither does Donna.”  He sat quietly for a moment, contemplating all he’d read when he turned back to his partner and asked, “So what do ye make of the file, Ian?"

He shrugged before admitting, “I haven’t read it.”

“What?  Why?”  Peter asked with a frown.

Ian shrugged and smiled wryly at Peter.  “Not my story to know.  It’s Donna’s, and yours; to share if you choose.”

“I see.  Ye could have, ye know,” Peter said as he held the photo out.  "Look at this, Ian," he murmured. "They never name this man- they just call him 'the Doctor'. "  Peter scratched the back of his neck and sighed.  “ According to this, he seems to be a freelance investigator or specialist, some sort of troubleshooter?  Donna’s identified as his ...  assistant, ... his partner?”

He rubbed his eyes and continued.  “Says she was instrumental in solvin’ the Burning Sky issue, found buried details that let them prevent a world-wide catastrophe. The officer who authored the report said Donna had a bit of a problem with authority,” and for some reason, Peter couldn’t help but smile proudly.

Ian held his breath for a moment as he read through the file before putting the photo back on the desk.  “This hints that she was in the field with him, and in danger.”

Peter nodded grimly but said nothing.

“It’s weird,” Ian said, holding up the photo of Donna and the man identified as the Doctor.  “Sure you don’t have any missing relatives?  No unknown brothers?  ‘Cos this one?  He looks enough like you to be your twin, even,” he added, nodding his assessment.

“Ye think?” Peter asked incredulously, studying the picture before sniffing with feigned nonchalance. “I donnae see but a passin’ resemblance.  He’s terribly skinny,” he said and then pulled the other photos into a line and waved his hand over them in disgust.  “And look- he wears the same suit over and over; years apart even.”  Ian hid a smirk, looking sideways at Peter's attire.

“Burning Sky must've been a code name for that incident a few years back, what with the ATMOS thing.  Sontarran may have been a company name or something?  It literally says she was part of a group that saved the world,” Ian muttered quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Have you talked to Donna?  Asked what she remembers?” Ian ventured cautiously.

Peter again knew what Ian was really asking and that talking to Donna about what he had found was both reasonable and logical, but he also knew he wouldn’t; it wasn’t the right time.  Something stayed his hand, a cold dread he couldn't put a name to. “No yet. I want a bit more information before I do. But soon.  I’ll talk to her soon,” he agreed as he came to another difficult conclusion.

Ian nodded and started to leave when Peter said quietly, “Thank ye, Ian, but close the door.  I’ve somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to tell ye and it's way past due.”

********** 

**Monday, 11 June 2012  4:02 PM**

The Doctor sat tucked into the far corner of the reception area watching Donna Noble from across the room, the perception filter he wore about his neck shielding him from view.  Whenever anyone so much as glanced in his direction, immediately something fascinating drew their attention in another direction.  Everyone, that is, accept Donna.  She kept sneaking furtive glances in his direction, biting her lip and fidgeting uncomfortably.  He knew she couldn't actually see him, but equally, he knew that she could feel that something was wrong.

He knew the feeling well: he’d spent the better part of three days, hopping back and forth across Peter Carlisle’s past, looking for evidence of the man’s evil intent and frustratingly, finding none.  He’d been especially thorough, traveling back to be there at his birth, and he watched Peter play happily with his brother and his parents for a few years before his mother and father begin to squabble.  He was present the night a young boy had seen enough of the abuse and had finally stood up to his father after a particularly vicious fight and had been soundly smacked for his troubles.  It was just the once, but still, it was enough. 

He had followed Peter to the library as the young man retreated from his troubles into books and he had stood over his shoulder, reading the variety of works the boy selected but especially enjoying the detective stories to which Peter showed a special dedication.  He observed the young man as he saved all his pocket change to buy those special stories that touched his soul, sometimes forgoing meals to have enough. He scrutinized the teen who cut classes to sit in the square and watch people go by so that he could play his own, private game of Sherlock Holmes, seeing what he could surmise by the appearances and habits of all the passers by. 

The Doctor studied him as Peter grew bolder and began following people to confirm his theories and he was there the afternoon the boy’s attentions frightened a woman who caught him following her and called the police. When they discovered he was a truant,  they dragged straight home for a wallop.  That night, his parents had a row about his upbringing, with Peter’s father blaming his mother for coddling him and havering on and on with him about all the books he read rather than enforcing strict discipline. In the morning, Peter woke to find that his father had gone, and this time, it was for good.

The Doctor kept an eye on the young man as he became more guarded and less free with his emotions: Peter had discovered in his fathers’ absence that, contrary to what all the songs on the radio said, love wasn’t necessarily forever.  He watched as Peter grew estranged from a brother who blamed him and distant from a mother who tried but couldn’t assuage his guilt.  When he entered Secondary school, the Doctor had sat at a nearby table in the cafe as his father derided his desire to become a detective- that’s your mother’s foolishness, he had said with a snarl- and he insisted that Peter become a psychologist, instead. 

Peter never sensed it, but there was a Watcher there for all the milestones of his life- the Doctor was present for his first kiss with a lass a grade behind him and he saw the day Peter slipped behind the shed with a neighbor girl two years older. He stood by as Peter experienced the first giddy days of true love with a golden-haired young woman and made promises to her before a crowd and he leaned on the bar the night Peter had his heart broken and drowned in his disappointment, guilt and betrayal following his divorce.  He stood beside Peter at his graduation and followed him on his first day as a policeman, even going so far as to celebrate with him at the pub the night he was first made a Detective.  He observed his quick rise to prominence in North Lakes and he witnessed his secret fall from grace in Blackpool.

But long before the night he milled about in a white lab coat to stand witness to the chance encounter that had brought a man like Peter Carlisle into a woman like Donna Noble’s orbit and a few short days after, when he followed them back to Peter’s flat following a flirty dinner at the Bulls Head, the Doctor had decided that Peter Carlisle had no business trying to find redemption for his sins in the arms of Donna Noble.  Peter Carlisle had become a frustratingly transparent enigma and if there was one thing the Doctor could not abide, it was an unsolved puzzle.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as Peter struggled to keep his expression neutral. By confessing his past transgressions to his current partner, Peter knew had done either the smartest thing he could have or the most idiotic thing possible, and the verdict was still out on which it would end up being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- You light up my Sonic and my life. Enjoy your sojourn in the Homeland of Doctor Who.

**Monday, 11 June 2012  4:45 PM**

Ian sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as Peter struggled to keep his expression neutral. By confessing his past transgressions to his current partner, Peter knew had done either the smartest thing he could have or the most idiotic thing possible, and the verdict was still out on which it would end up being. He literally bit his tongue, determined to give his partner the time he needed to process his thoughts on the matter without cluttering them up with his own. And so Peter simply sat and waited for Ian’s response.  

"You threatened your partner," Ian stated slowly.  

Peter nodded once. "Yeah, that I did."  He scratched the back of his neck and looked briefly at the photos on the desk before him before sniffing loudly and looking back at his partner. 

“But there's nothing in your records,’ Ian continued in the same tone.  Peter wasn’t sure how to read his partner’s reaction, so he answered in kind.

“No, there isnae.  Nothin’ official, anyway,” he confessed.  “But if ye know what ye’re lookin‘ for, the signs are there.  I wasnae exactly embraced by the law enforcement community in North Lakes after Blackpool,”  Peter admitted wryly.

“Why exactly did you do it?” Ian persisted, perplexed.  “I mean, beyond Natalie.”  He cocked his head to the side and peered at Peter closely.  “What made you think you could get away with it?”

“I wondered that m’self for a long time after,” Peter admitted.  “It all comes down to this: I made a mistake.”  He scrubbed his forehead suddenly, as if to scour away the memory of unpleasant truths.  “I kept secrets from my partner. I wasnae honest. I thought I was smarter than Blythe which wasnae fair. He was young but no stupid.” He frowned in remembrance, then regarded Ian steadily.  “And...I knew I could intimidate him into keeping mum about my relationship with Natalie.”

Ian sat forward in his chair suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees.  “And why then are you telling me?” he wondered.  “You got away with it and no one here’s the wiser.”

“I cannae keep the rumors at bay forever,” Peter sighed.  “Sooner or later, someone’ll get wind of it.  I’d rather ye hear it from me.  And besides, I want you to be able to trust me.”  He offered Ian a slight, bemused smile with a shrug.

"You can see where that might be paradoxical, DI?" Ian snorted as he sat back and considered all he’d been told.

Peter nodded slowly and pursed his lips.  "The irony has no been lost on me, DS," he drawled slowly.  “I've learned my lesson. I'm sorry.” It was a statement, not an apology, and Peter swallowed his guilt and shame as he waited on his partner’s decision.

Ian rested his chin in his hand and exhaled heavily, his eyes never leaving Peter’s face.  Taking in his expression, Peter continued, “I’ll understand if ye want to request a new partner.”  Ian immediately shook his head and waved away Peter’s offer dismissively while he considered his reply.

 _Maybe I haven’t bolloxed this up entirely_ , Peter mused, surprised at how much comfort he derived from that thought.  He’d grown so used to distancing himself from his colleagues, either through actions or attitude, that he’d forgotten how right it could feel to trust someone, to have someone he could almost call a mate.  He thought back to Donna and her admonishment of his behavior towards Ian and resolved to make amends, if the man was prepared to give him the opportunity.

Ian watched as Peter wandered mentally, lost in thought.  The DI really had nothing to gain by his admission and everything to lose, yet he’d still confessed to things of which he’d never have been suspected.  “Tell me one thing, DI,” Ian finally ventured and Peter braced himself for the worst.  “Was she worth it?”

Peter blinked, then breathed out slowly.  “Yes.  Yes, she was.”  He looked steadily at Ian.  “Do I wish I had found another way?  Of course.”  He paused, and his face twisted briefly with remembered pain before he continued.  “But yes, Natalie was worth it, even if things dinnae work out in the end.  I have a lot to thank her for.”  He regarded Ian from years away, his gaze clouded with bittersweet remembrance.

“And Donna?  Is she worth it?” Ian probed cautiously.

Peter’s face lit with a grin.  “Oh, even more so,” he declared, remembering ginger hair spread across his pillow and laughter in her bed.  “But here’s the thing,” he said, resting his elbow on the desk and pointing at Ian.  “Donna? She’d murder me, and make no secret of it.  Bloody hell, that woman?  After she’d murdered me, she’d lead ye straight to m’ body if she ever even suspected I did somethin’ sneaky or dishonest, on her behalf or no.”  He sat back and smirked and only just managed not to rub his shoulder as he though of her favorite place to smack him when she felt he was out of line.  “No, Donna’s gonna keep me on the straight and narrow, make no mistake.  She’s funny that way.”

“Well,” Ian said decisively, “I think it’s high time I met this Ginger Goddess.”  Peter raised an eyebrow in question and Ian explained, “That's what Hamish calls her, that new tech we left gaping after us in the lobby.  Apparently he ran into her one day at that sandwich shop you two frequent. Saw her giving hell to a bank manager-type sitting at a table by himself when an older lady was standing having her lunch at the counter. He's quite taken with her; sounds like he’s a bit in awe of her, really,” he finished with a sly smile. 

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Peter acknowledged, still grinning.  “She’s a bit of magnificent, actually.”  He considered the photos on the desk before him, toying with the one Ian had provided.  “I’ll ask her along for Friday?” he said uncertainly, watching for Ian’s reaction.

“See that you do,” he nodded decisively.  “The office pool is getting bigger by the day, with odds against you ever showing, and I could use a bit of extra dosh with the Olympics coming to town,” Ian replied, scratching his head.

Peter gave a snort of laughter before sobering.  “We good, then?” he asked and Ian nodded.

“Yeah, we’re good,” he replied.  “Just don’t let it happen again.”

********** 

**Monday, 11 June 2012  6:45 PM**

“Peter, are you sure?” Donna asked uncertainly over dinner.  She was glad of the bustle of the restaurant around them, the flurry of activity acting as a distraction from the quiet drama taking place at their table.  “I mean, Pub Night is supposed to be bondin’ time with your coworkers: are you sure I'll be welcome and not in the way? “ she persisted, putting her fork down as she looked at him pointedly.  She was pleased that he wanted her to accompany him, but unsure of how to classify her status in his life.  She loved him, deeply, and she was reasonably sure that he felt the same, but she was so out of practice that she wasn’t sure how to define their relationship.  Were they seeing each other?  Dating? Was he her boyfriend?  The word seemed trite and unsuitable for the depth of her feelings for him, but she wasn’t sure what the correct term should be.  

“I can just wait at home for you, or just see you the next day, if you like,” she offered.  “You’re not gonna hurt my feelings, Policeman.”  She started to reach out for him but saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She turned slightly towards it, but her gaze slid past the empty booth across from them and smoothly back onto DI Peter Carlisle.  She paled slightly but otherwise gave no indication that anything had happened.

Peter swallowed a bite of his koobideh and took a quick drink before answering.  “Donae be daft, Donna,” he said gently.  “I know for a fact significant others are welcome, encouraged even. Turner's been askin' if I'll show for the past month and every single time, he tells me to bring 'that special someone' with.  Besides,” he said with a smile, “if you donae want to go, I'll just follow you to the George.”  He reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing it gently.  “I'm no so barmy as to hang around with a bunch of bloody old wankers when I could be with a beautiful ginger goddess.”  She smiled back at him, but Peter noticed her eyes straying behind him again before she returned her full attention to him.  He frowned and glanced over his shoulder as she spoke.

“Ginger goddess, huh? Better be careful she clears off before I come around or I'll hand her back her arse on a silver platter!” Donna declared boldly with a toss of her head, much to Peter’s amusement.  She smiled slyly and picked up her glass.  “Hold on- Turner..,” she said, frowning in concentration, “Shakespeare’s blood spatter guy, yeah?”

Peter nodded and clarified as he returned to his dinner.  “Forensic Specialist Alec Turner.  He’ll be there.  Ye really should meet him.  From what I’m told, he’s one of the regulars, along with Ian, Caveman, Dexter and...”

“Pardon?” Donna interrupted.  “Caveman?”

“Sorry, Detective Sergeant Manfred Cave.  Caveman is Alec’s nickname for him,” Peter explained with a shrug, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  “Kinda appropriate, really, and he doesnae seem to mind.    Surprisingly, now that I think of it, he seems to like the name.  The man is blunt, crude and tenacious, but beyond that, I donae know much of him.”

“All the more reason for you to go, then,” Donna said bluntly.

“I want to,” Peter shot back immediately, “but no without you.”

Donna looked down at her plate for a moment, then neatly side-stepped his complaint by asking, “So you've told Turner about us, then?” 

“No in so many words, no. I've kept my private life just that- private, 'til now,” Peter replied carefully.  “Ian knows, of course, but Alec?  No.”  He stopped to consider, then cocked his jaw to the side and gestured at Donna with his fork.  “But Alec's smart- I think he figured it out when one of his lab techs came back from pickin’ up lunch that first day we went out.”  He nodded to himself, thinking back on his recent interactions with Turner.  “And he’s dropped a few hints, askin’ me leadin’ questions.  So yeah, he knows.”

“All right, no pressure there,” Donna drawled with a raised eyebrow.  “Not like they’ll have any expectations of me, then...”

“Donna,” Peter wheedled, putting his fork down and pushing his plate aside, “ I cannae believe ye’re hesitatin’!  It was ye who told me t’ get out with these people and form relationships.  Besides, Alice in reception begged me to come so she'd have a bit of extra cash on hand for her holiday.  Ian, too- he’s countin’ on it for when the Olympics start.”  

“And what does me showin’ up and them enjoyin’ a windfall got to do with the price of tea in China?” she asked cautiously.  She watched him over the rim of her glass as she took a careful sip.

Peter grinned; he had her now.  “Weelllll,” he drawled, tugging at his ear, “I hear the office pool is up to £125 that I willnae show at all, and £175 that if I do show, it'll be with a bloke.   Alice told me her money was on me just showin’ up, so I donae have to bring a friend on her account.”  He sat back, waggling his eyebrows at her and prepared for the show about to start.

“Oh. My. God!” Donna breathed, scandalized.  She spread her hand across her chest and stared at him for a long moment.  “There’s money ridin’ on this and you never said a word about me?”  Her eyes went wide and she leaned across the table.  “Peter, they’re gonna think you just picked me up somewhere to go with you!” she hissed.

“Donna...,” Peter began, but she interrupted him.

“Oh, I’m gonna have to go shoppin’!” she continued, biting her lip as she considered her options. “I want to make a good impression, Policeman, so what...”

“Donna,” Peter said a bit louder, reaching out to capture her hand. “Donna- stop.  Just stop.  If you want t’ go shoppin’ because ye feel like it, fine; but donae go just for Pub Night,” he said solemnly, his accent thickening with emotion.  “Just go as yerself, that’s all I’m askin’.  Don’t go doin’ anythin’ differently.  Please.”  He stared at her as she sat opposite him and Donna opened her mouth to speak just as the waitress stopped by to clear the table.

“Would you care for anything else this evening?” she asked politely and Peter sat back and glanced questioningly at Donna.  She shook her head and Peter turned to the young woman standing beside him.  “Just the bill, thanks,” he replied.  Once the waitress left, he reached across the table and took her hand again.  

“Donna, they’re gonna think I’m the luckiest bastard at the Met when I walk in with ye,” he breathed and for Donna, the din of the restaurant faded into the background.  “An’ I never said anythin’ about us only out of habit.  I donae go about with m’ heart on m’ sleeve, and ye’ve never let me take a photo of ye, so there’s nothin’ on m’ desk for them to see,” he confessed awkwardly, picking at something invisible on the tablecloth before continuing.

“Besides, my partner knows all about ye.  He’s been helping me with my...research, but he’s kept mum on what we’ve found.  When we get there Friday, everyone else will take their cues from him,” he reassured her.  He considered for a moment, mouth open slightly and Donna bit back on a smile when she saw his tongue pressing against the back of his top teeth.  “Alec, Ian- they figure the truth will out in the end,” he added, nodding to himself, “and honestly, I think they’re the ones pumpin’ up the odds on the pool to get the big payout.

“And what is it you and Ian have found?  About me?”  she asked, watching him intently.  Peter winced internally: he should have anticipated her response, but he had been so caught up in convincing her to go that he had lost sight of the larger goal.  As he was deciding what exactly to reveal, Donna stiffened, her face going oddly slack as her eyes again were drawn to the empty booth behind him.  Following her gaze, Peter glanced over his shoulder then looked around the busy restaurant to the line of people waiting at the door.  He glanced again at the empty table, curious as to what triggered Donna’s response and momentarily wondering how long the restaurant would hold the table behind them before declaring a no-show and seating someone.

He turned back to Donna and asked, “Love, are ye alright?”  He touched the back of her hand in concern.  “Are ye rememberin’ somethin’?”

At the sound of his voice, the spell was broken and she struggled to return to him.  “Peter, what causes that feelin’?” she asked with a gasp.  “The one that makes you feel as though you’re bein’ watched, but there’s no one there?”  She shook her head and felt as if she were breaking the surface after being submerged too long.  “It’s so odd...unsettling, like someone’s standin’ on my grave.  It’s almost like deja vu, but it’s really, really creepy.”  She rubbed her arms and shuddered slightly, confessing with an uneasy frown, “Makes my skin crawl.”

“Someone probably is watchin’ ye and yer subconscious has picked up on it,” he reasoned.  “It’s someone sneakin’ glances at ye- probably admiring yer hair, or the way ye look in that blouse.  I know I’ve been doin’ it all evenin’ m’self, tryin’ to decide if I like ye better in blue or green.”  He raised an eyebrow as he gave her a sly smile, trying to coax her out of her mood.

The room went strangely silent around them again as Donna’s eyes fluttered.  She looked around once more, slightly disoriented, before she settled her attention on him with a sad smile.  Peter could see her fight to refocus on him and suddenly she broke out in a teasing grin.

“So what’s your verdict, Policeman? Blue or green?” she baited, her eyes dancing with mischief as she reached out, offering her hand to him.

Peter was relieved to have her back and his smile deepened as he grasped her hand and leaned in to whisper, “Oh, that’s a foregone conclusion.”   

She smirked slightly and inclined her head to him, clearly inviting him to continue.  

“I love ye,” he said simply.  “I donae care what ye wear- or what ye donae wear,” he added with a playful leer, before turning serious.  “I love ye, Donna,” and she realized that was all the definition she needed for their relationship.  

“I love you, too, Policeman,” she replied, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand with a sweet smile.  His open, delighted grin in response made her heart stumble and swell and she knew her own expression was rapidly approaching giddy adoration as she leaned across the table to kiss him.

Just as their lips were about to meet, the man passing behind Peter stumbled into his chair, jostling him and interrupting their kiss.  Peter turned to him as Donna looked up.  “I’m terribly sorry,” the man apologized, looking around curiously as Donna took a deep breath.  “I don’t know what happened to make me stumble into you.  It felt exactly as if someone pushed past me just now.”   

Peter accepted the man’s apology with a good-natured smile.  “No harm done,” he said, pulling his chair a bit closer to the table. “I wasnae payin’ attention and I probably pushed out in front of you without meanin’ to.”

As he settled back at the table, Donna exhaled, visibly relaxing before him.  “And .... it’s gone,” she said with evident relief as the hostess led a young couple to the booth behind them. “Just like that, the feeling’s gone.”  She nodded suddenly and declared,  “All right, I’ll go to your Pub Night with you.  It’s only fair, seein’ as you’ve agreed to hazard a dinner with my family.”

“Aye, I’ve been waitin’ for you to tell me when.  Name the time and place,” he replied, nodding towards the door questioningly as he stood. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Now that, I’d gladly pay to see,” she said with a smirk as she rose from the table and accepted the hand he extended to her.  “Thursday night still all right?  Sevenish at [Café Rouge](https://maps.google.com/maps/place?cid=5543493951137326885) on the High Road?  It’s my mum’s regular haunt for Tuesday Night with the Girls.  She won’t dare make a scene there,” Donna confided as she playfully tweaked his ribs.

He chuckled in response and slipped an arm around her as they reached the street.  As they walked arm in arm, Donna felt something jut out and poke into her side.  She reached under her arm and patted at Peter’s side, discovering what felt like a small, flat box in his coat pocket.  She turned to him questioningly but when he pretended to ignore her, she poked at his ribs harder and he was forced to grab at her hand to save himself from further abuse.  

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” he said casually.  She abruptly stopped walking, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms and he looked at her appraisingly before he gave in.  “It’s just a little somethin’ I picked up for ye while I was out and about,” he admitted with a shrug, and Donna thought she might have seen the faintest tinge of pink color his cheeks.  “I’ll give it to ye once we reach home?” he offered, raising his arm and inviting her back into his embrace as her heart soared on the single word, home.  She settled back beside him with a smile and a quick peck on the cheek then headed towards her flat.  She quickened her pace and Peter laughed as she dragged him along with her.  She wondered with pleasant anticipation just what on earth could be in that box that would make her DI blush and she was determined to open it up and find out as soon as possible.

**********

Just a refresher on locations- [here's the link to the map of Peter and Donna's Chiswick](https://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msid=201469593294913141795.0004d0521acafef68eaa1&msa=0).

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor stood awkwardly on the doorstep, twisting and turning as he mentally rehearsed the best way to approach the situation. He was debating the most effective and efficient method to find out what he needed to know...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my muse, WhosInTheAttic- Welcome back. You were missed.

**Monday, 11 June 2012  8:15 PM**

The Doctor stood awkwardly on the doorstep, twisting and turning as he mentally rehearsed the best way to approach the situation. He was debating the most effective and efficient method to find out what he needed to know from Wilf: should he go with stealthy or straightforward?  Charming or challenging?  Ingenuous or ingenious?  He was unprepared, therefore, when the door jerked open unexpectedly and he was confronted with the scornful face of Sylvia Noble.  "Can I help you," she snapped, "or were you just planning on wearing a hole into the doormat with your pacing?  You've been back and forth at least a dozen times, young man."

Taken aback, the Doctor blinked in confusion before remembering that Sylvia Noble didn't know this body.  Silently thanking Rassilon for small favors, he stepped forward and offered his hand and his best smile in a futile attempt to win over Sylvia Noble.  

"Ah, you must be Mr. Mott's granddaughter," he gushed.  "He says such nice things about you.  I'm ...Doctor...  McCrimmon. Yes, that's it. I'm Doctor James McCrimmon, and I'm terribly sorry to be a bother, but I need to speak to Mr. Mott, if it's not too much to ask."  Sylvia refused to move and simply stood with one hand on her hip and the other on the door, effectively blocking his way.  The Doctor raised his hand to smooth back his hair as his eyes darted about, taking in everything except the contemptuous expression of the woman before him. 

"No, I'm his daughter, you fool," Sylvia spat at him, "and I guess he doesn't say nice things about me, eh?"  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot in a painfully familiar manner.  He'd managed once again to put his foot in it and not for the first time did he realize the futility of trying to engage one of the Noble women in verbal battle.  He glanced back at Sylva and frowned, suddenly clasping his hands behind his back as he studied his shoes: her stance was so much like Donna's, it was all he could do to stop himself from hugging her.

Subdued and saddened by the impulse, he quietly asked with abashed dignity, "May I see Wilf, please?" 

"A bit late for a social call, don't you think?" Sylvia countered dryly.  She waited, glaring at the Doctor as he fidgeted awkwardly with his tie until it became obvious that he wasn't going to offer a response.  She sighed theatrically and turned to yell up the stairs.  "Dad! Someone's here to see you!" 

"At this hour?" came the puzzled response from the second floor.  "Well, then, who is it?"

Sylvia turned and raked the Doctor from head to toe and back with a quick, disdainful glance.  " I dunno.  Some young fool in a tweed jacket at the height of summer," she sneered.  "All floppy hair and a bow tie?  Says his name is Dr. James Something-or-other.  That sound like anyone you know?"

Before she'd even completed her assessment, Wilf flew down the stairs and launched himself across the room to where the Doctor stood.   "Ah, yes!  So nice to see you again," he declared grandly, shaking the Doctor’s hand and dragging him bodily across the threshold.  "We met up at the pub last week, Syl," he explained as the Doctor stumbled over his own feet.   "He's an astronomer; I told him to come anytime and I'd take him up the hill to see my telescope."  He nodded and put on his best potty-old-man expression for Sylvia's benefit, pushing a bag into the Doctor's hands as he backed out the rear door, tugging him along after.  "So good of you to come, Doctor...," he exclaimed loudly.  

"McCrimmon" the Doctor said, sotto voce.

"McCrimmon," Wilf said smoothly.   "Just came down to reprovision myself before I headed back out for the night."  

Sylvia watched the two men disappear into the darkness and rolled her eyes as she slammed the door behind them.    

When they reached the allotment, the Doctor glanced about and then back at the house, making sure he was well out of earshot of Sylvia Noble before speaking.  "Ah, Wilf," he said as he glanced in the bag that had been thrust upon him.  He grinned in delight as he saw a thermos and two packs of Jammie Dodgers in its depths.  "It's always a pleasure to see you," he said, genuinely happy at the reunion.  He handed the bag back to Wilf and mused aloud, "Well, except for that one time, but that was hardly your fault, now was it?"  He smiled again and bent down to shake Wilf's hand.  "The point is, how are you Wilf?"

"Oh, I'm good, I'm good," said Wilf as he pumped the Doctor's hand in greeting, "but you don't really want to talk about me, now, do you, sir?  It's Donna you're here about, or I'm much mistaken." 

"Well," the Doctor drawled with a grin. "I admit seeing you again isn't the primary reason for my visit, but I am still delighted to see you, Wilf."  He paused for a moment, dipping his head before looking back at his friend. "And I'm sorry for the whole ‘Not having anything nice to say about me’ business with Sylvia," he apologized, wringing his hands and leaning in close. He frowned for a moment, conjecturing the possible outcomes of his awkward encounter with Donna's mother. "I hope it doesn't prove to be too... inconvenient." He offered Wilf a wan smile as he looked up hopefully from under his hair and Wilf was reminded of the response of a little red-haired girl when she was caught out being rude. "I really was trying to be complementary."

Wilf snorted.  "It makes no difference, Doctor," he said as he unlocked the shed and pulled out his telescope and two chairs.  "If it weren't that, she'd be after me for somethin' else."  He settled down into the first chair as he waved the Doctor toward the other. 

The Doctor pursed his lips and wavered for a moment before he exhaled heavily and fell into the proffered seat.  "The invitation still stands for a quick jaunt in the TARDIS," he offered by way of apology. "Whenever and wherever you like, no questions asked."  He swept his hair out of his face, then clasped his hands together between his knees and rocked back and forth for a moment with a sad, hopeful smile. 

Wilf shook his head slowly while he studied the Doctor. "Thank you, but I reckon we'd best get back to the matter at hand."

"Ah, yes, of course," the Doctor said, nodding awkwardly. "Donna.  Donna and that man..." 

"Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle," Wilf supplied helpfully as he passed an open package of biscuits over and looking up, he was surprised to see the Doctor's face harden slightly. 

"Yes," the Doctor stated, his voice flat and entirely without emotion, "DI Carlisle.  Tell me about him, Wilf.”  The Doctor plucked a Jammie Dodger from the package and absently turned it over and over in his hand.

"Why?  What have you found out about him?  Is he dangerous?" Wilf demanded.  "Because Donna says..."

"I don't want to know what she says - I know what she thinks," the Doctor said with deceptive calm. "I want to know what you think."

"Well, he seemed pleasant enough, the one time," Wilf began.  The Doctor's head jerked up sharply and he fixed Wilf with a fierce glower.

"You still haven't seen them together?" he demanded incredulously.  Wilf shook his head and the Doctor's eyes narrowed as he wondered to himself, "Why have you still not seen them together?  Donna Noble was never one to hide; in fact, she always marched right up and made sure the world knew she was there and was well-informed of exactly what she thought, whether the world wanted to know or not.  She was open, with everybody and everything, except…."  He tapped his finger forcefully against his forehead, his face a mask of concern.  

"I've been tryin' to, sir, tryin' to get her to bring him to meet us, after the last time we spoke.  I finally just came out and asked her that myself," Wilf replied. "She wavered about and wouldn't answer, but I think I know.  I think she was afraid she'd jinx it, the relationship, or that her mum would scare the DI off."  Wilf looked down at his hands for a moment.  He avoided the Doctor's eyes as he cautiously continued.  "And the way she talks about him?  Donna seems happy, Doctor.  Truly happy.  Happier, at any rate, than I've heard her since she's been back here.  Almost like her old self, like she was when she was travelin’."  Wilf carefully avoided adding _with you_.   "She's finally agreed and we’re to go to dinner with them both, later on this week."

"Dinner with the family?  How domestic," the Doctor replied, wrinkling his nose and picking dejectedly at the Jammie Dodger in his hand.  He averted his eyes and flinched slightly before he continued.  "Well, I'm glad that's been sorted, then."  He looked somehow diminished, sad and small and still as he sat folded up in the chair, his eyes firmly on the sky above.

"I think... I think the fact that he's willin' to deal with Sylvia again, even after their first meetin', speaks volumes about him.”  Wilf waited for moment for the Doctor to continue, but when the silence stretched uncomfortably between them, he asked quietly, "Doctor, I know you miss her, but don't you…. don't you want Donna to be happy?  Even if it's not with you?"

The Doctor's face leapt back to life, and he defended himself vehemently.  "Of course I want Donna to be happy, Wilf.  That’s all I ever wanted."  He sat forward suddenly and continued.  "She’s my best mate - that much hasn’t changed; not for me, at any rate.  And she deserves every happiness, Wilf, every boon the Universe can possibly grant her," he declared passionately.  He paused for a moment before his voice dropped to a near-whisper.  "But not with him.  He’s not right for her: he's not suitable at all," he finished darkly before biting into his biscuit.  He chewed absently, lost in thought.

Wilf threw himself into the momentary pause in the Doctor's thoughts.  "But why?” he demanded, plowing on before he lost his nerve.  “Because here’s the thing, Doctor.  Donna?  She seems happy, with him.  They’re nigh-well inseparable.  They spend all their free time together."  Wilf watched the Doctor's face carefully as he went on.  "He seems good for her.  She rings me up now, just like she used to and when I talk to her on the mobile, she’s more like her old self.  It's not like when she was with you, but it's close. If she can't ever travel again with you, isn't this near enough?"

The Doctor was quiet for a long time before he nodded once to Wilf.  "Dinner, then," he said quietly, examining the remains of his biscuit.  His lips quirked into the ghost of a smile and he inhaled deeply.  "Where?" he asked, deceptively casually as he brushed something unseen from his lapel. 

"I reckon Donna wanted Syl to be happy, so she picked Café Rouge, up there on the high road.  It's a regular place for her and she'll be comfortable there."  Wilf chuckled ruefully, shaking his head, “I reckon Donna thinks that out in front of her regular Girl’s Night crowd, Syl won’t risk embarrassin’ herself or her DI.”  In his amusement, he missed the flash of something dangerous cross the Doctor’s face at his words.

"I saw them together, Wilf," the Doctor blurted out suddenly, unable to keep it secret any longer.  "More like watched, actually," he admitted, almost as an afterthought.

"You’re spyin' on them?" Wilf breathed, aghast. 

"No, Wilf, I was conducting research," the Doctor said, nonplussed.   "I’m only doing it to protect Donna. I don't have any sinister, ulterior motives."  He swept his hair back and munched on the rest of his Jammie Dodger, trying to appear casual in an effort to hide his confusion as he watched Wilf curiously.  

"Donna?  She saw you?" he asked hesitantly. 

"No, of course not," the Doctor replied, shaking his head with a frown.  "I was under a perception filter.  I could follow them anywhere, be like a fly on the wall, as they say, and they would be none the wiser.  She never even knew I was there," he said, which, strictly speaking, was true.  She had felt something, she had known that something had been there, but Donna hadn't known what she felt was him.  How could she?

Wilf's blood ran cold as he realized the implications of the Doctor's admission: was there anything this man was incapable of, once he put his mind to it properly?  Was there any secret he couldn't discover, any piece of information that could remain hidden once he'd decided to find it?  As he watched the alien sitting before him - because Wilf remembered suddenly that his friend wasn't human- he slowly understood why the Doctor wanted Donna back so desperately.  

The Doctor lifted his face back to the heavens with a tiny smile.  “She calls him Policeman,” he mused wistfully, his jaw trembling very slightly.  “And why not?  It’s not as if she can remember...” he trailed off bitterly, thinking _and whose fault is that?_  He was sure Donna was responding to subconscious memories of another hand in hers, faint traces of a trail he had blazed leading straight to her heart and this other man was trespassing there.  This interloper was taking advantage of her vulnerability, invading her life as he insinuated himself into her affections.  The Doctor’s lip curled as he remembered the way the man skillfully infiltrated her defenses with a subtle caress, disarming her with pretty words, enticing her with his eyes.  His artful seduction was insidious and unstoppable and the man’s biggest sin, the one thing the Doctor would never forgive, was that each and every complement DI Carlisle paid Donna Noble was true. 

"Doctor," Wilf said, forcing him from his thoughts, "you said the DI wasn't good for Donna, but you didn't explain why.  You'll need to,” he said forcefully, “especially if you're wantin' me to try and get between the two of them."

The Doctor suddenly leapt to his feet and began pacing about wildly.  "Why?  Why?" he cried, arms swinging about madly.  "Why, Wilf?  You ask me why?  Because every time I see him, with her, I see… "  The Doctor's voice faltered for a moment and he swept his hair back from his face impatiently.  "Every time I see them, I’m reminded…" he said, spinning in place and stopping to face Wilf.  His lip curled and he stalked over to Wilf's chair, towering over the old man before he came back to himself.  He took a step back, kicking at the ground and watching the dust swirl in the air and settle back to earth before he spoke again.  

"It’s not fair, Wilf," he murmured.  "It’s not right!  He....he’s taking advantage of her!" he continued, his voice rising in outrage.  " **He** didn’t earn her trust!   **He** doesn’t deserve her affections!   **He** …"  The Doctor blinked hard as he realized what he had said.  He slunk back to his chair and sat awkwardly, not daring to look back at his friend.

As the Doctor sunk back into silence, Wilf slowly spoke.  "I remember something' Donna told me, Doctor.  She told me never to tell you she said it," he admitted quietly.  He sniffed once and looked up before he continued.  "But I reckon, as she can’t ever decide to tell you herself now, she’d want you to know,” he said, nodding sadly.  “Donna told me once that you were dazzlin’- amazin’ even- and that she trusted you with her life,” Wilf revealed quietly.  “And that’s what this really is we’re talkin’ about here, isn’t it, Doctor?  Her life?  Her happiness?“ 

The Doctor stilled again and seemed to buckle back into himself, shoulders hunched as he convulsively clasped and unclasped his hands before him.  He looked again to the heavens and in the moonlight, Wilf saw the glint of unshed tears standing in his eyes.  The Doctor jutted his jaw out, biting his lip, but said nothing.

“So what happens now?” Wilf asked and when the Doctor didn’t respond, he slowly prodded, “ ‘Cos I reckon jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Doctor.” 

The Doctor lunged out of his chair at Wilf, only just stopping before him as he hovered above, his face dark and threatening.  “Jealous?!?   **Me**???” he sneered, his jaw trembling with suppressed rage.  “Is that what you think?” he hissed as he leaned in close to Wilf, his eyes flashing fire.  “What? Just because I said she was the Most Important Woman...” He spun on his heel and Wilf watched sadly as the storm passed and the Doctor deflated in front of him.

“I miss her, Wilf.  I miss her so much,” he whispered.  “And it hurts, that she can’t remember me, but she’s with him and he looks like....that,” he muttered, quiet, sad and subdued.  He stared into the past and saw Donna and all the possible futures that had once swirled and sparked and danced around them, but the song had ended and those bright, shining possibilities were irrevocably lost to him now.   

“Doctor, I know how much you want her back,” Wilf admitted.  “I saw it that day...”

An idea flared suddenly in the Doctor’s mind: a new song had begun, he realized and he roused himself from the past. “You wanted me to go back to her, Wilf.  You told me to.  If he can, maybe I can, too, especially now,” he said hopefully, gesturing to himself, becoming almost manic as new possibilities bloomed in the timelines surrounding him.

“Is she really in love with him, or has he simply taken advantage of the groundwork laid in our relationship?” he mused aloud.  He spun around, wobbling unsteadily, caught up in the whirlwind of potential and probability flickering before his eyes.   _With just a prod there and a tweak here_ , he thought, _it might even become more than possible_.  It wouldn’t be too much of a violation of his responsibilities, would it? He swung back to Wilf and cried, “Is it love, or is she subliminally substituting this double for... ?” He trailed off, straightening up, biting his lip viciously, frowning.

“Doctor, I reckon...” Wilf began, shrugging sadly but the Doctor knew what he was going to say.

“She’s happy,” the Doctor blurted out.  He nodded his head once, slowly, before turning to face Wilf.  “She’s happy?” he asked bluntly and at Wilf's answering shrug, his face threatened to cave in upon itself again.

“I think so,” Wilf admitted quietly.

“I have to know," he said vehemently.  " **I have to know.** ”  He looked down at his hands, his own fingers intertwined in a way they never again would be with his best friend’s.  “I told you... I did some things, before: things that went terribly wrong.  I never would have, you know, not if she’d been there to keep me...” he stumbled, unable to finish the thought aloud.  

“Wilf, what I became without her,” he whispered dejectedly before whirling about, his hands clenched tight at his sides.  “The Universe isn’t fair!” he roared.  “She was my best mate - the very best.  She didn’t look up to me or idolize me, or- or- or fancy me,” he declared with an awkward wave of his hand as he paced about erratically.  “She wasn’t in awe of me or afraid of me.  She treated me as an equal, as a person, and for once, I felt like a person instead of some madman in a box.”

He threw his hands up in the air without warning and shouted accusingly at the stars, “If **he** can be with her, then why can’t **I**?”  He wheeled about and yelled, “What if she remembers?  What if she remembers and her mind burns because of him?  I can’t protect her from this doppelgänger, **don’t you see**?”  He stalked back and forth before jerking back to Wilf, throwing out his arm and stabbing the air as he cried, “ **He’s** going to be the one holding her hand, sharing her life and her laughter: **that man is in her bed** , Wilf, but if it all goes wrong, it’ll be **me** killing her!”

The Doctor’s voice still echoed in the night as his face collapsed suddenly.  “I miss her, Wilf.  I want her back,” he confessed and the air around him shimmered with misery.

“I know you do,” Wilf admitted, wishing he could do something to alleviate the other man's anguish.  “But you’re a good man, Doctor.  You are.  You’ll do what’s best.” 

"I'm not a good man; I’m far too old and selfish and bitter for that,” the Doctor muttered. “But you’re right.  I will do what's best.”  He nodded once more to Wilf and walked dejectedly back to the TARDIS.  “The question is, Wilf, what’s best for whom?”

**********

**Monday, 11 June 2012  8:15 PM**

Peter Carlisle blushed furiously as Donna lifted the lid on the small box in her hand. "Like I said, it...it's nothin’ much," he stammered awkwardly, as Donna's eyebrows threatened to shoot into her hairline. 

"You weren't kiddin', Policeman," Donna gasped as she held the scrap of lace up for inspection. "A black lace bodysuit?"

Peter’s face threatened to spontaneously combust and he hastened to explain.  "After ye gave me the shirt and all," he said, "I assumed we were at the point in our relationship where gifts of clothin’ were acceptable."  As Donna snorted and held the bodysuit up to the light, Peter muttered to himself, "Knew I should've gone with the cream one instead."

Donna turned the gossamer garment around and blanched when she saw the thin strip of material that was supposed to cover the wearer's bum. "Peter, if I wear this, and we engage in our typical ...activities... I'm gonna have to have it surgically removed," she said, regarding the wisp of lace dubiously.

"No, Donna, ye mistake the purpose of the gift," he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm no askin' for ye to wear it for me... Well, no that way, at any rate. No that I wouldnae like to see ye... What I mean to say is..." he spluttered, wishing that the floor beneath his feet would open and swallow him whole. 

Donna took pity on him, her expression softening as she reached up and drew his arm down, taking his hand in hers.  "Care to explain what brought this on, Detective Inspector?" she asked gently, laying the box aside.  She turned to him fully and looked up into his face, standing on tiptoe to place a slow, sweet kiss of understanding on his lips. 

Peter sighed and confessed, "It's for me, but no the way ye think."  Donna waited patiently for Peter to continue. "I'm a bit of the jealous type," he said slowly, avoiding her eyes, "and the other night, with Nerys and her date?  Let's just say I dinnae care for some of the looks that man was shootin' yer way."  He inclined his head and pulled at his ear, favoring Donna with a slow, sheepish grin.  "But I did hope ye'd like it."

Donna cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips, watching Peter's expression shrewdly.  "So, Gary was guilty of more than Nerys’ usual level of boyfriend twatiness is what you’re saying."  She put her free hand on her hip and nudged Peter gently with her shoulder. 

"Very creatively phrased, Ms. Noble," he smirked, relaxing when it became apparent that she was more amused than offended.  He wrapped an arm about her waist to draw her closer and brushed back a lock of hair from her forehead.  "Eloquent, original and descriptive: very much like ye. I like it."  

"And this," Donna said, stretching out the word as she leaned over to hook a finger in the scrap of lace, dangling it between them, "this was your solution? Not to nudge me and warn me to sit up or tell me my blouse was too low-cut?"

"Ye shouldn't have to change what ye like to wear to protect yerself from the attentions o’ men like that!" Peter protested hotly. "Ye werenae indecent!  Ye were lovely - ye are lovely!  It's just," he stumbled over his words, unsure of how best to phrase his confession before he decided to come clean. "It's just to keep me from endin' up bein' incarcerated for assault when some bloody wanker looks like he's picturin' havin' ye for dessert." 

"I can see how that wouldn't be your best career move, there, Policeman," she said, caressing his cheek. "But I would've slapped his eyes back in his head if I'd seen him.  I can take care of myself, ya know.  Been doin' it for more years than I care to admit."

Peter bit his tongue rather than say the words he wanted to: it was his responsibility and duty to protect her now.  It wasn’t that she was incapable of defending herself; far from it.  He’d had an inkling of her ability even before the night she’d rounded on that vid-happy arse in the George and the whole pub had gone silent in anticipation.  No, Donna was more than able.  It was that he **needed** to keep her safe, more than he was prepared to admit, and he was unsure of how she would react to that sentiment. He pulled her closer and tried to direct the conversation away from dangerous waters, not realizing he was heading directly for rocky shores.  

"When I was browsin’,” Peter said quietly, “the girl in the shop assured me that this was the right choice.”  He looked away for a moment, pushing his hair back off his forehead.  “She said it would be comfortable and if it did show beneath yer clothin’, black would go with everythin’," he continued, his voice wavering as he saw her expression morph from shock to outright mortification. 

"Which shop?" she squeaked, eyes wide as she paled in his arms. 

"Sanderson & Grainger," he replied cautiously. "Why?" 

“Because I have to decide whether to avoid the place outright for the rest of my days or march in there and give the wisp of a girl who told you that a resounding slap,” Donna declared, eyeing the lace in her hand dangerously. 

“If ye dinnae like it, I can always return it,” Peter murmured bashfully, running a hand through his hair.  “I’ve overstepped my bounds and I shouldnae...”

“Oh, no, no, Policeman!  You haven’t overstepped!” Donna said, laying a finger on his lips as she hastened to reassure him.  “It’s a lovely thought, and I love you for it, but it’s a bit...darin’... for someone of my.... for me,” she finished quietly.

“Darin’?” he asked, an eyebrow arched and a smile of remembrance playing about his lips.  “This from the woman who tied me to her sofa with my own tie?” he laughed, glancing down at the selfsame accessory hanging from his neck.  “From the ginger beauty who brought handcuffs to my flat?”  Donna sucked in her bottom lip at both the memory and his choice of words and tried to hide her embarrassed grin.  

Peter sensed he’d managed to steer them clear of danger and smiled.  “As I said, I dinnae purchase it with prurient intent.  I must admit, though, if I catch a glimpse of black lace peekin’ out,” he said with a lingering kiss, “it’ll have my mind racing with thoughts of...later possibilities.”  He risked a quick peek with a downward flick of his eyes, grinning evilly all the while and Donna rolled her eyes before pulling him down for an exasperated kiss.

“Men,” she groused, kissing him again.  A devious smile spread across her face as she leaned back to look at the bodysuit once more.  “And you only got me the one?” she teased.

“Weeelllll,” Peter drawled, pulling at his ear, “I wanted to see if ye’d wear it, first.”

Donna draped her arms about his neck and pulled him down to her.  “You should've gone with the cream, Copper,” she breathed, kissing his ear.  “Follow your instincts next time.” 

Peter closed his eyes and leaned down to her.  Their lips met and he sighed, “Donna, those instincts?  They’re screamin’ now, tellin’ me that I love ye.”

“Quite right, too, Copper,” she teased, grabbing him by the tie - her tie, he thought with a stab of desire- and snogging him thoroughly.  She pulled back slowly, then risked a quick nip at his chin just to make him smile before she rested her forehead against his.  “You stayin’?” she asked breathlessly, still clinging to his tie.

“Oh, I want to, but I shouldnae,” Peter replied, inhaling sharply.  “I have to drive in early tomorrow and I’ve left some files back at mine.  Ian and I are gonna follow up on a few leads tomorrow and then we’ve got an appointment to interview a lad taken into custody for property crimes: he might know Bence.  I want to make sure I get there early to get things in order, and we’ll likely be out and about at lunch time.”  He brightened as a thought occurred to him.  “But I should be ready for a break about 8:00.  Want to have a quick coffee before ye have to be in?” he asked hopefully. 

Listening to his explanation, Donna grinned happily, but Peter had no way of knowing at what.  _Ian,_ she thought, _he’s calling him Ian all the time now._   She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and straightened his tie.  “Sounds lovely, Policeman.  Shall I bring it up to you?” she offered with a tilt of her head and Peter realized he’d stepped directly into her snare.  

“If ye’d like,” he said, tenderly tracing her smile with his thumb.  “I would be pleased to introduce ye to Ian and anyone else who might be there.”  Her smile grew smug and with a tiny nod, she acknowledged his acceptance of her victory.  “Ring me when ye’re near and I’ll come down and ease yer way through security.”

“I’ll do that, Copper,” she said, drawing out her pet name for him playfully.  “8:00 AM - coffee for you - and Ian?” she offered with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Aye,” he chuckled.  “He takes it with just a splash of milk, no sugar.  If Millie’s there across the street, tell her it’s for Ian.  She’ll do it right.  I think she’s a bit sweet on him,” he confided.  

“Will do,” she laughed in response as she walked with him to the door.  “Tomorrow mornin’, then.  And Policeman, don’t forget,” she said sincerely, “I love you.”  

She left him with a kiss and as he made his way down the stairs, he smiled as he mused, not for the first time, that Donna would have made a fine detective in her own right.  She was quick-witted, she made connections easily, she could think three paces ahead in a conversation effortlessly and she was practiced in turning situations to her advantage.  She knew when to gently probe and when to go on the offensive:  in an interrogation, he thought, she would be a force to be reckoned with.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All ready, DI?” said Ian, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Let’s not bugger about, yeah?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Whos, now and forever. I know I don't have to say it: you know.

**Tuesday, 12 June 2012  7:45 AM**  
  
“All ready, DI?” said Ian, rubbing his hands together briskly.  “Let’s not bugger about, yeah?  If we head out now, we might be able to...”  
  
“Not quite yet, Keating,” replied DI Peter Carlisle, carefully enunciating his partner’s name.  “I still have a few things to do here, first.”  He glanced at his watch and continued, “Besides, if we wait until, oh, I dunno... 8:30?  8:40?  We’ll miss enough of the mornin’ commuter traffic to more than make up the time.”  He offered Ian a casual nod as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and returned to his study of the papers spread across the desk before him.  Ian watched his partner curiously as Peter turned to his computer and began tapping away at the keys without sparing him another glance.  
  
Ian accepted the suggestion with a slight inclination of his head.  Upon reflection, he did have a few things that he could take care of now rather than later. And that would have been that, except for one tiny, telling detail Ian noticed as he made his way to the door: as he typed, DI Carlisle subtly angled his wrist, just enough for his watch face to catch the light.  Ian observed him surreptitiously and just as he reached for the doorknob, Peter glanced at his watch yet again.  
  
“Spill it,” Ian said, leaning back on the door as Peter looked up innocently. “You’re usually the one chomping at the bit to leave,” he continued as he walked back to the chair opposite the DI's desk and flopped down.  Peter opened his mouth to reply just as his mobile trilled in his pocket and he held up a hand as he answered.  
  
“Donna!  What a lovely surprise,” Peter said a touch too brightly and Ian looked to the heavens for patience.  
  
 _How thick does he think I am?_ he grumbled mentally.  “You could’ve just said,” he mouthed as he stood to leave but Peter waved him back to his seat.  
  
“Coffee?  Delivered here in the office? For Ian, too?” Peter said theatrically, regarding his partner over the top of his reading glasses with a sly smile.  “That would be outstandin’, Ms. Noble, and much appreciated.”  
  
Ian heard a guffaw from the other end of the line.  “He’s standin’ right in front of you now, isn’t he, Copper?”  
  
“That would be a yes,” Peter admitted, grinning unabashedly as he stood and snagged his coat from the back of his chair.  “May I come down and escort you up?”  
  
“That was the agreement, yeah?  You better hurry, though, before I decide the bag of baked goods I'm also pickin' up would be better served by going in to the office with me instead of you,” Donna teased as she rang off.  
  
“The lovely Ms. Noble approaches, bearin' offerings of caffeinated beverages for the both of us,” Peter explained with a slight lift of his brow and a smile in his voice.  "And perhaps pastry, if we're very lucky."  He leaned over his desk, picked up his handset and punched in a number on his desk phone.  He swung his coat on as he cradled the handset between his shoulder and his ear, waiting for the officer on duty to answer.    
  
“Good mornin’, Sergeant, this is Detective Inspector Carlisle in Homicide," he said and Ian noted that Peter’s playful lilt had disappeared entirely.  "I’ve an important visitor about to pass through security.  I’m on my way down to escort her through, but in the event she arrives before I do, her name is Ms. Donna Noble.  She’s of medium height, about one and half meters, with blue eyes and shoulder-length ginger hair.  Please extend her every courtesy, until I arrive.  Understood?”  He replaced the receiver and adjusted his collar as he turned back to his partner.  
  
“I thought ye’d like to meet the subject of yer investigation, Ian, and I told her last night that we’d probably be in the office until about 8:30 this morning',” he said apologetically as he started out into the main office.  He paused mid-stride to let Detective Dexter pass by on his way back to his desk.  “Donna wanted to meet ye, too.  I hope ye donae mind,” Peter threw back over his shoulder as he headed for the lift.    
  
Ian nodded and followed Peter out of his office as far as his own desk, watching thoughtfully as the DI punched the button beside the lift.  As the doors opened and Peter stepped inside, Ian picked up his phone.  “Turner?  This is Keating.  Yeah, listen: I think you had a bet with DS Cave?  You might want to head down here now if you’re looking to collect; Donna's on her way up," he said into the receiver, also announcing it to his eavesdropping office.  "But try to be discreet, yeah?”  he admonished to all within earshot.  He replaced the receiver, crossing his arms over his chest in response to the obvious buzz his statement had created in the office as he leaned back against his desk, regarding DS Cave with a smug expression.  The other man wasn’t intimidated.  
  
DS Cave sat back in his chair, swinging his feet up on his desk and crossing his arms behind his head.  “Donna, huh?” he said tauntingly.  “Bet it's really Donald,” he jeered at his partner.  Detective Dexter merely rolled his eyes and walked away.

**********

_Why, when ye're in a hurry, do the people in the lift contrive to stop at every single floor between ye and yer goal?_ Peter thought with disgust when the doors before him closed for the third time.  He could have walked down the four flights of stairs- backwards, slowly, twice- in the amount of time it had taken to go down two floors.  When the lift stopped again to let in yet another chattering hoard of office workers, he impatiently pushed his way out and headed for the staircase.  As he hurried down, he glanced impatiently at his watch and pulled out his mobile, thumbing to Donna's number.  He hoped she hadn't already pushed her way through, but if she had, he had no doubt that she’d either charmed the sergeant at the gates or injured several officers in the process- perhaps both.

**********

In the shop across the street from the MET, Donna Noble pocketed her mobile as she queued up at the register, absently reaching for a packet of chocolate covered coffee beans for whoever it was that kept nicking her stash of Cadburry Mini Bubbly bars from her desk.   _Peter was right_ , she thought, _Millie has a thing for Ian_. The girl had eyed her suspiciously after she’d mentioned Ian in placing the order until Donna complemented her.  “Thanks for your help.  Peter said you’d know how DS Keating liked his coffee,” she explained, earning her an embarrassed smile from the barista.  The young woman made of a point of placing three extra sugar packets in the drinks holder next to Peter’s cappuccino and one next to Ian’s coffee and Donna grinned in understanding. “None for me, thanks,” Donna told her as the girl set her morning tea into a free slot in the holder.  
  
At the register, Donna waited as patiently as possible for the indecisive woman in front of her to complete her transaction and glanced around the coffee shop uncomfortably.  Something niggled at the back of her mind and she checked again that she had her bag, keys and wallet.  She stepped up to the counter and handed the cashier her card as she looked across the shop, beyond the table at the window to the Met.  Seeing the tumult of people at the security entrance, Donna was glad that Peter had thought to come down and help her bypass the queue.  The morning streets were bustling, and she paused at a table just inside the door to put her belongings in order, expertly juggling the coffee holder, the bag of pastry and her handbag.  Finally ready to face the maddening crowd, she stepped out onto the sidewalk and joined and the mass of commuters beyond.    
  
Scanning the throng across the busy street for her DI, Donna pulled out her mobile, ready to tease Peter about his brilliant plan to escort her through security.  As she glanced over her shoulder at the coffee shop she’d just left, Donna felt as if she were plummeting through a deep, inky tunnel- her vision narrowed as the rest of the world fell silent and still around her.  She was alone on a darkened street once more, staring at a man she didn't know but recognized nonetheless.  Jack Bence sat alone at a table near the window of the shop she'd just been in.  She had absolutely no doubt that it was him: he wore the same jacket, the same hunched-over slouch, and the same pained expression that she'd seen the night her new life began, just two months past.  
  
Her mobile rang in her hand, startling Donna back to the here and now.  "He's here!  The man you're lookin’ for!" she cried breathlessly as she pressed herself back against the face of the adjoining building, not waiting for Peter to speak.  She whirled about quickly, searching the sea of faces for her Policeman.  "He's here, in the coffee shop, right across from the security entrance!  I just realized when I passed him.  He’s right there, sittin’ in the window across from you!"  She staggered slightly, torn between the need to find Peter immediately and the desire to confront the fugitive staring despondently across the street.  
  
Peter heard the desperate indecision in Donna’s voice and realized immediately what she must be thinking.  "Donna, ye stay put, ye hear me?” he demanded, taking the steps two at a time.  “Where are ye?  Did he see ye?  Does he know who ye are?”  
  
“I...I’m just across the street, against the outside of the buildin' ” she breathed and Peter was dismayed at how calm she sounded.  “I don’t think he saw me.”  
  
“Donae move, ye just stay right where ye are, I'm almost to the lobby, I’ll be there in a moment," he said firmly.  “I’m callin’ Ian, but I’ll be right back.  **Do no** ring off.”  He thumbed his screen and when Ian answered, he barked, "Bence is in the coffee shop across the street.  I’m almost there.  I want plainclothes officers down there immediately.  Alert the Uniforms at the entrance, but no one is to make a move towards him.  Do it now.  No one, I repeat, NO ONE is to approach the suspect until we're ready."  
  
“Peter?” Ian demanded and he answered the unspoken question.  
  
“Yes.  Donna’s there, too.”

**********

Donna slowly edged back to the doorway she’d just left, her mobile still pressed to her ear.  Peter and Ian had been looking for this man for so long and it was so crowded: if he stood up now, he could easily vanish in the congested streets, never to be seen again. She could see him sitting there, pen in hand, doodling absently on a napkin.  With a sudden scowl, he balled it up angrily and shoved it in an empty cup before flopping back in his chair and staring across the street.  Donna wanted to keep him in sight, but where she stood was no good: she was blocking the entrance, impeding the flow of foot traffic around her.    
  
Slipping her mobile, still on, into her pocket, she decided to move just inside the shop, back to the tiny vacant table inside the door.  She watched him from the corner of her eye as she set down the drinks holder she’d almost forgotten she was carrying.  He didn’t look like a murderous madman: he looked like a kid, barely out of school and he seemed so sad, so forlorn and depressed as he sat there toying with an empty cup. She pried the lid off her morning tea and carefully added a packet of sugar, stirring it slowly as she turned to Bence.

**********

Peter burst through the doors and out into the plaza, punching at the screen to retrieve Donna’s call.  Searching the queue at the security gate, he saw the picture she’d let him take after dinner the previous night spring back onto his mobile and was about to speak when he heard her muffled voice and his blood froze in his veins.  
  
“You waitin’ on someone?” she said casually, and Peter whipped around to face the shop window across the street.  
  
He heard a young voice, hollow and empty reply, “Nah, just waitin’.”  
  
Ian was suddenly there at his elbow, winded and leaning over to catch his breath, and Peter turned to him, wide-eyed and wild as he put his mobile on speaker and muted the microphone.  
  
“Well, I’m waitin’, too.  Waitin’ on a friend to show,” they heard her reply.  “OK if I wait with you?”  
  
Peter darted for the exit at the checkpoint, almost running, but Ian shot out a restraining hand.  “Slow and steady, DI: we don't want to spook him,” he said significantly as the conversation across the street continued.  They looked up to see Bence shrug noncommittally as Donna took the seat opposite him.  
  
“What’s your name?” she asked gently.  “I’m Donna.”  She settled at the table and pulled her steaming tea from the holder, holding it with both hands to hide the slight tremor running through them.  
  
“Jack,” he muttered, with a wry twist to his lips.  “It’s nice to meet you, Donna,” he said automatically.  He tried to look at her but when she smiled kindly at him, he flinched and grabbed another napkin from the holder on the table.  He took out his pen and began drawing while Donna looked on.    
  
Her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “What’s that you’re doin’, then?”  She held Peter’s coffee up to him in invitation, but Bence declined with a shake of his head.   He returned to his sketch, but when Donna opened up the pastry bag and split a sticky bun in two, he gratefully accepted half with a sad smile.      
  
“I’m tryin’ to plan my next work,” Bench admitted, popping a bit of pastry in his mouth and licking his fingers.  “Tryin’ and failin’.  I just can’t seem to make anythin’ worth makin’ a statement, though.  Not since...” he trailed off and Donna thought she might have seen his chin tremble for a moment before he shook it off.  
  
“Work?” she said, leaning towards him to look at the drawing.  It looked like the beginnings of a face, a pained grimace set in negative space.  “You’re an artist?”  
  
“Yeah,” he replied, scratching absently at his neck.  He tried to return to his drawing, but he sighed heavily and turned it over, glancing again across the street.  Donna followed his gaze and thought she might have caught sight of Peter in the middle of a group of men at the security booth.  She hoped he could still hear her conversation and would know what to do. She returned her attention to the despondent young man across from her and his desolate expression made her heart catch in her chest.    
  
“Would I have seen any of your pieces?” she ventured, trying to draw him back out.    

“Nah, not by the look of you,” the young man snorted, but not unkindly, taking in her manicure and subtly tailored clothing.  “By the look of you, you spend a lot of money to look like you don’t have money. I’m betting you don’t frequent the ‘galleries’ where my work shows,” he said with a smirk.  
  
“And by my count, you’ve looked over at the Met six times since I came through the door,” she retorted.  “Why?” she asked, more sympathetically.  “I thought you said you weren’t waitin’ for anyone.”  
  
“Oh, I’m waitin’ all right,” he spat bitterly and it was if he’d just been waiting for someone to speak to him, for someone to confide in.  “I'm waiting for my courage to show up.  I need to go over there, Donna, but I just can't.”  He lifted his chin suddenly and ran his hands through his hair.  He sighed heavily and dropped his hands to his lap before looking back at her again.  “Every day I sit here and I try; I really and truly try, but I always talk myself out of it.  I'm such a bloody tosser,” Bence said, burying his face in his hands.    
  
"Why do you feel that way, sweetheart?" she asked kindly.  "What happened?"  She fought the urge to reach out to him, to console him, not knowing how he would react to her touch.  
  
He dropped his hands back to the table and regarded Donna for a long, silent moment.  “A man died because he tried to help me,” he confessed, “and I’m too much of a coward to tell the police what happened.  I’m afraid they won’t believe me,” he sighed, looking down at his hands.  “But that shouldn’t matter.  I should go tell them anyway.”  
  
Donna took the opportunity to glance out the window again and she all but sighed in relief to see Peter running across the street with his mobile pressed to his ear.  He saw the fear hidden in her calm facade and he wanted nothing more than to rush in and whisk her away to safety, but he checked the urge when he saw her eyes, silently begging him to be cautious.  He looked over his shoulder as Ian met his gaze and discreetly waved the officers back.  Peter handed his mobile to his partner with a meaningful look, took a deep breath and entered the coffee shop, striding with forced-casual purpose to Donna’s side.  
  
“Mornin’, Love,” Peter said as he sat very close to Donna and took her hand, “who's yer friend?” He felt a tiny tremor run through her at his touch and he forced himself to smile at her and the other man at the table.    
  
“Peter,” she said, relaxing almost imperceptibly beside him, “I'm so glad you could join us.  This is Jack,” she continued, gesturing at the boy across from her.  “Jack, this is Peter.  He's my,” she hesitated a moment, never having said the word in front of him, “my boyfriend.  He's also a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police,” she added slowly.  Jack’s head whipped up and he looked at Donna with wide, desperate eyes.  “You can tell him what you told me.  It's all gonna be OK, sweetheart,” Donna said, reaching across to pat him on the hand.  “You’ve no reason to be afraid. I promise.”  
  
Bence considered legging it for a split second, but when he looked over at Donna smiling compassionately at him, he sighed and a sense of calm washed over him.  He looked from Donna to Peter then back again before bowing his head.  He sat perfectly still for a moment before he raised his head up again, this time staring directly at Peter.  
  
“She’s right,” Peter said quietly as he looked Bence in the eye.  In his peripheral vision, he saw Ian pocket his mobile outside the window and start for the door.  “You can tell us what happened.  We’ll listen.”  As Ian walked in behind him, Peter continued in reassuring tones, “If you’ll go with my partner, Detective Sergeant Keating, I’ll be along in just a minute.  We’ll get this all sorted out.”  
  
Ian simply stood with his hands behind his back, inclining his head towards Bence and waiting patiently.  The young man pushed himself up and away from the table and started towards Ian, then stopped.  “Donna, will you... I dunno what’s gonna happen.  But will you come see me? Just to talk?”  He suddenly looked terribly young and vulnerable and Donna’s heart went out to him.  
  
She stood and gave his cheek a quick peck.  “Of course I will, sweetheart.  Peter will let me know where you are, don’t you fret,” she told him warmly.  “You just tell them the truth- every bit of it, mind,” she said, waggling a finger under his nose, “and everythin’ will be fine.”  She squeezed his hand and he smiled nervously before nodding.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered to her as Ian led him away.  Donna watched them cross the street and join a small knot of what she supposed were plainclothes officers.  She followed their progress until they melted away into the crowd and she stood there, lost in thought, until an angry growl caught her unawares.    
  
“What the bloody hell were ye thinkin’, woman?,” Peter snarled, his eyes blazing with barely-contained fury.  “Did I no tell you to stay where ye were?”  He shot to his feet and took her roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to face him.  “Just which part of ‘donae move’ did ye take issue with?”  His hands shook and Donna couldn’t tell if it was rage or relief she saw in the depths of his eyes.  
  
“It’s a public place, Policeman,” she said pointedly, both by way of explanation and in an attempt to draw his attention to their current surroundings.  “I was perfectly safe.”  Her simple statement failed spectacularly to calm him.  
  
“How do ye know?” Peter scolded.  “He could’ve killed ye right there and then, made his escape.  Is that what ye want?” he cried, releasing her abruptly to keep himself from shaking her in frustration.  “Me to rush in and find ye...?” he broke off, mindful of the stares his behavior was directing their way.  He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose.  He opened his eyes again to find her staring at him, her expression unreadable.  “I’ve seen enough murder scenes in my day to tell ye no one expects that they’re rushin' to their death.”  
  
Donna cocked her hip and raised one perfect eyebrow in warning before she launched her counterattack.  “No, what I wanted was for you to walk in calmly and talk to that boy and that’s exactly what happened, so get off your high horse there, Sherlock!” she said hotly, waving her finger in the air.  “I was traipsin’ about as I saw fit before I met you and I’ll keep my own counsel about what I should and should’t be doin’, thank you very much!”  She saw Peter’s lip twitch and suddenly, she was indignant beyond reason.   She leaned in close to him and hissed, “Just ‘cos we’re sleepin’ together, don’t make the mistake of thinkin’ you can go around tellin’ me what to do!”  
  
Peter’s heart sank: is that all it was to her?  Sleeping together?  Surely she knew how deeply he felt for her: didn’t she feel it as well?  “Donna, I... wait!” he said, chastened, as she spun away from him.  
  
“No, I’m done bein’ lectured to, Detective Inspector Carlisle,” she snapped, ramming his cup back into the holder before she thrust the whole thing into his hands.  “If you don’t mind, I have to get to work now.”  She leaned over the table and roughly shoved the lid back onto her tea, sweeping it off the table and nearly scalding herself in the process.  
  
“No,” he said, voice hard and unyeilding, “you cannae....”  
  
She whirled in place and stabbed at his chest with a finger.  “Watch me, Bizzie Boy,” she blazed, snatching her bag off the back of the chair and heading for the door.  
  
He watched her take exactly three steps before he remembered to speak.  “Ms. Noble, I regret to inform ye that ye cannae leave,“ Peter said clearly in an official tone of voice, but Donna heard the note of pleading beneath the formal wording. He forced himself to stand stock still before continuing.  “Yer actions have made ye a witness and now ye’ll be required come across the street to be formally interviewed by another officer,” he explained, as calmly as he could.  “I’ll contact yer office so they’ll know where ye are and that yer absence is in no way yer fault.  I’ll make sure it’s made clear to them that ye werenae involved in any malfeasance and that ye’ll be released to return as soon as possible.” His jaw stiffened for a split second and he licked his lips and glanced at the ceiling before he finished.  “If ye’ll please accompany me now, I would appreciate yer cooperation.”

**********

Across the street, Ian carefully disconnected from the call.  In all the confusion, he had forgotten Peter’s mobile was in his pocket.  When he felt it’s weight at his hip, he had only meant to tell the DI that Bence was already speaking to an officer, giving a preliminary statement and answering questions.  He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the argument between the DI and his lover, but what was done was done.  All he could do now was make the best of a bad situation.  He pulled out his own mobile and called up to their office.  “Dexter?  Yeah, this is Keating,” he said quietly.  “I need you to do me a favor.  Get another interrogation room open and ready, now, but do it quietly.  I’ll be conducting an interview in a few minutes and I’d like it kept quiet.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day,” said Alice Newcomb in surprise looking up from her desk at reception and across to the lift.  “It’s usually the DI dragging in the suspect, not the other way about.”  

**Tuesday, 12 June 2012  8:25 AM**  
  
“Now that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day,” said Alice Newcomb in surprise looking up from her desk at reception and across to the lift.  “It’s usually the DI dragging in the suspect, not the other way about.”    
  
Lab Tech Hamish Chapman glanced up at her from the pile of forms he’d been coerced into delivering and asked, “What’s that, then?”  
  
“Detective Inspector Carlisle and that woman there,” she replied, one eyebrow raised in disbelief as Donna all but marched towards the interrogation rooms, Peter trailing behind her with a scowl.  “Oh, my,” she said, reaching for the phone.  “I’d better warn DS Keating there seems to be trouble brewing and, by the looks of it, it’s heading directly his way.”    
  
Hamish followed her gaze and his mouth dropped open as his eyes grew wide.  “It’s her,” he breathed, following Donna’s progress as she jerked open the first door she came to and plunged in headlong with Peter less than a half-step behind her.  Heads popped out of multiple offices in response to the reverberating impact of the door in the doorframe and Hamish and Alice both stood gobsmacked, not quite believing what they had just witnessed.  
  
“What the bloody hell was that?” came an exasperated voice from down the hallway.  “Are we under terrorist attack?”  
  
“No, we’re not,” Hamish answered with what was, in Alice’s opinion, an astonishing amount of exuberance.  “We’re not, but DI Carlisle is.”

**********

"OK, Sherlock, you've got me here.  Now what?" Donna cried, only just remembering to set her tea down on the table as she tossed her bag on the chair.   "You gonna charge me for interferin' with a police officer?  Or is it assistin' an offender?  No, no, no- I know!" she announced grandly,  flinging her hair back over her shoulder in disdain.  "You're gonna haul me before the judge for obstruction and then clap me in irons for contempt!"  Her face was stormy but her eyes were full of fire as she folded her arms across her chest and awaited his response.  
  
"Donna, stop it. Stop it right now," Peter said in a low, barely-controlled growl as he pushed the forgotten coffee holder onto the table and rounded on her.  "I am no havin' this row with ye, here, now, in police headquarters!"  
  
"Oh, no, you don't get to take a pass on this, DI," she said, matching his tone and meeting him head on.  One hand on her hip, she waved the other back and forth between them.  "You started it, but I'm finishin' it up, right here, right now!"  She planted her feet firmly before him, her chin tilted up defiantly and through his righteous indignation, Peter’s traitorous brain thought she’d never looked so magnificent.  
  
"I started it?  ME?” he found himself retorting, his voice rising in both volume and pitch, matching the progress of his eyebrows.  He leaned over to stare her in the eyes, his hand on his hip now as he unconsciously mirrored her attack position.  “Who was it went chargin' into an unknown situation without the benefit of any sort of backup?  Who was it that just couldnae follow directions for **five bloody minutes** and wait?” he roared, wheeling back and away from her.  “Ye could have been hurt!  Donna, he could have... "  
  
"No backup?” she countered angrily.  She pursued Peter across the room, stabbing an accusatory index finger roughly into his chest, incredulous and indignant at his indictment of her actions.  “What the bloody hell were you, then?  And you!” she crowed, standing up on tiptoe to meet his furious glower.  “Weren’t you the one who told me you didn't think he was the murderer!"  
  
"Not so ye could go stumbling' into harms' way for a lark!” he shouted, throwing up his arms as he spun in place, looking to the heavens for vindication.  He ran both of his hands abruptly through his hair, desperate to make her realize the recklessness of her behavior.  “Woman, did it never occur to ye that I might have been wrong and and that Bence, in fact, could have been guilty?"  
  
“Yes, of course it did, but, unlike you, I didn't assume my best friend and lover is a **flippin' moron**!” she parried, gesturing wildly as something inside her threatened to break.  “I know you.   **I know you** ,” Donna repeated, infuriated at the tears that were about to betray her.  “You're competent, and intelligent, and... and brave," she hiccuped as her emotions conspired to overwhelm her, "and resourceful, and... and, and bloody brilliant!"  She closed her eyes momentarily to block out his confused expression and inhaled deeply, concentrating on the sensation of air filling her chest.  “But now I see what you think of me,” she whispered, mortified at the single drop that spilled down her cheek.  She wiped it away roughly and turned on him, all blazing outrage and injured pride.  “Well, I'm no Hobby Bobby and I can take care of myself!”  
  
"What?  That’s what ye think I...?” he said, stopping mid-sentence as her words hit home.  “That’s what ye think this is about?  No!" Peter declared, reaching out to her, but Donna was having none of it.  
  
"Oi!  Hands!" she spat, slapping at his outstretched arms as she hopped back just out of reach.  
  
He watched as her mask fell back into place, the mask of attitude and indifference he hadn’t seen since the first time he’d tried to understand her at that little cafe and at its reappearance, Peter tried and failed to reign in his temper. "Donna Noble," he snarled, "that is no true and entirely beside the point!  
   
"No, Detective Inspector," she hissed, withdrawing yet another step away from him, "That is exactly the point!"  
  
Peter inhaled slowly through his nose and out through his mouth, as he attempted to regain control of himself and the situation. “Donna, I was only tryin’ to keep yer name out of this business, aye?  But ye?  Ye had to barge in and engage the suspect in conversation,” he said and she was too distraught this time to catch the tiny spark of wonder in his voice.  “And now?  We’re here, havin’ a go at each other in my offices.”  
  
Donna crossed her arms and cocked her hip, staring him down and refusing to be chastised.  “And that’s entirely your fault, DI.  You were derelict in your duties when you hauled me in here," she accused, much to Peter's puzzlement.   "You never got around to cautionin’ me as to my rights, especially the one about not havin’ to say anythin’,” she quipped flippantly, sweeping her hair back with a slight tremor in her hand.  
  
“Donna, ...,” he said quietly as he tried again to reassert sanity into the situation.  He was careful to keep his distance, trying to draw her back to him with words instead of the gestures she’d already rejected.  
  
“So, is this gonna be a formal interrogation, Sherlock?” she asked tightly, and she had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from breaking as she deliberately refused to meet his gaze.  
  
Flinching slightly, wishing for the first time that he’d never shared his reading habits with her, Peter sighed heavily.  “No, Donna, nothin' of the sort.  We’re just here to take yer statement,” he said, drawing a weary hand across his eyes.  She saw what this conflict was costing him and she bit her lip for a moment before his words finally sank in and she frowned.  
  
“Statement, huh?  Well, it may not be an interrogation from your end, but I think it’s high time I instigated one of my own,” Donna declared, catching her second wind. “What have you found out about me, Sherlock?  What are you hidin’?” she demanded, advancing on him once more.  “ ‘Cos I think it’s high time for someone here to be makin' a confession,” she huffed, throwing up her hands in exasperation.    
  
Hearing her gear up for round two, Peter sighed and retreated into the familiarity of impersonal interrogation techniques.  “Ms. Noble, as this line of questionin' has no bearin' on the case at hand, I’d suggest we pursue this topic of inquiry at a later date.”  He slumped forward slightly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he regarded her, his eyes tense, weary and wary.  
  
"No, I suggest you tell me what I want to know!" she cried in exasperation.  She felt the tidal wave of uncertainty and insecurity tumble up and wash over her and the emotional weight of it threatened to drag her under.   She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and weep in frustration but her self-doubt and injured pride prevented her from doing so. She turned away from him and wrapped her arms around herself again and wished with all her heart she could be anywhere but here and now.  
  
Peter saw her begin to waver and he tried to reach out to her again. "Donna, this is no the time or the place,” he said quietly, “but I promise..."  
  
She whirled back to him before he could even finish his though, "No?  Really, Peter?” she said incredulously.  “If not here and now, then where and when?"  By the time Peter recognized the pleading, desperate note in her voice, it was too late; their timing was off.  Even as he realized her resolve was crumbling and he surged forward to meet her, her face hardened and she shored up her defenses and readied herself for the next assault.  
  
“Donna, we'll take this up again tonight,” he promised as he reached for her hand.  “We’ll talk tonight, just the two of us, after we both have time...”  
  
“Who says I want to talk to you tonight, Peter?” she snapped angrily as she jerked her hand away from him and she realized she was skittering out of control.  “What will you have to say then that you can’t tell me now?” she challenged him, even as she tried desperately to stop. It was if she stood outside herself, watching a horrendous train wreck unfold, knowing exactly what destruction was about to occur but being powerless to intervene.  She tried to will herself to mirror his calm, to bring herself down from her towering wrath, but again, they missed one another in passing.  
  
Finally losing his patience entirely, Peter reeled away from her, fists clenched at his sides and bellowed, “Donna!  Enough!”  He turned and closed the distance between them in two long strides and Donna wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill her or kiss her.  She looked up into his eyes, dark with rage and despair and wondered if she looked as terrible as he did.  He leaned down and hissed, “This discussion is over, for now, full-stop!”  
  
“Keep tellin' yourself that, P.C. Plod,” she replied dangerously, “and that’s not all that’ll be over.”  She grabbed her bag from the chair and threw it over her shoulder as she snatched her tea off the table.  “You’re such an excellent detective, Sherlock: what're your instincts tellin' you now?” she tossed back as she strode to the door and prepared to wrench it open and make good her escape.  
  
With a sickening sense of déjà vu, Peter watched as another woman he loved was prepared to stalk out of his life, all because, once again, he hadn't trusted her: he hadn't told her the truth.  But just before she reached for the door handle, it popped open and Ian stuck his head in, looking from one to the other as Donna staggered back in surprise.  
  
"Uhm, I hate to interrupt," he said in a tone that suggested the exact opposite, "but we've actually prepared a room next door for the interview. Ms. Noble, if you'd be so kind as to accompany me, we can get started."  He stood back and held the door open for Donna with a surprisingly composed smile, Peter reflected.  Then again, he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of one of Donna’s pastings.  
  
It took Donna all of a second to regain her composure. "Of course, DS Keating," she said sweetly as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder., "But if it's him doin' the interviewin'," she said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder without a backwards glance, " I'm not talkin'!" Squaring her shoulders, she continued stridently.  "I'll talk to you, but I've got nothin' to say to him."  Ian's eyes flicked to Peter and he gave a barely perceptible nod, his expression hard and flinty.  
  
Not waiting for Ian’s reply or Peter's permission, Donna marched out angrily and the officers assembled in the hallway scattered like cockroaches at the flip of a light-switch.  Donna flushed bright red as Ian scrambled ahead to escort her to the interrogation room he'd reserved for her statement.  For being London’s finest, she thought, the faces staring at her curiously from the doorways they passed were less than adept at being inconspicuous.  In fact, more than a few were leaning against the wall, openly studying her as she stalked behind Ian and she was so fixated on ignoring them that she almost blew past when he stopped unexpectedly to open the door for her.  Following behind at a distance, Peter glimpsed Cave pass a twenty pound note to Alec who didn't even have the good grace to look abashed as Peter stormed by.

**********

Donna stepped into the room and she was struck with the uncharacteristic urge to scarper.  There was something different, something subtle that put her teeth on edge: it was almost like she was chewing on aluminum foil.  She looked about suspiciously: the room was nearly identical to the one she'd just been in, but there was something off, something wrong here.  Bad Feng Shui? she wondered.  The accumulated karma of hundreds, if not thousands of suspects who’d been questioned here?  Maybe someone had died in custody- could it be haunted?  She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, but there was something about being in the room that just gave her the willies.    
  
She shook if off as best she could and moved to the seat closest to the door.  Glancing around again at her surroundings, Donna took a closer look at the small space, the camera in the corner and the two chairs across the table from her.  The room was small, but not so much that she should feel as claustrophobic as she did.  She sat down and stared thoughtfully at the mirror on the wall, knowing full-well that there was probably someone, maybe even several someones, watching behind it.  
  
She turned to see Peter walk purposefully into the room, deliberately avoiding her gaze and she felt the first pangs of regret that always preceded one of her harangue hangovers.  She could see the tension coiled in his usually graceful form and she wondered, given the nature of the abuse she’d hurled at him, if he’d ever even consider forgiving her.  She checked the urge leap to her feet, to wrap her arms around him and stammer an apology, but she realized belatedly that Peter had been correct: this wasn’t the appropriate venue for that sort of behaviour and besides, she was terrified that he’d push her away.  Looking again at the observation mirror, she took the coward’s route and hid behind bluster, certain that she’d regret it later.  
  
“I distinctly remember tellin’ you I’d only talk to you, DS,” Donna stated flatly, unable to tear her eyes away from his, for fear she’d see something she couldn’t stand in Peter’s expression.  “I don’t want to talk to your DI,” she said and wished she hadn’t when she caught sight of his hand twitch towards her in response. “Not just now,” she amended quietly.  
  
Ian nodded as he took the seat directly opposite her and sighed deeply.  “No, I agree.  That wouldn’t be advisable at this time, given the nature of your personal ... relationship.  In this instance, DI Carlisle is here only as an observer,” Ian said with a meaningful look at Peter.  Turning back to her, he lied, “Regulations and all,” with an apologetic shrug, but she barely heard him.  
  
There was something terribly wrong here, she knew.  Donna felt as if someone were smothering her, holding her back and turning her round and round, all at once.  Feeling dizzy and ill, she closed her eyes to try to block out the sensation and regain her equilibrium.  When she opened them again, her eyes kept darting to the corner below the camera and her heart faltered before taking on a rapid staccato beat.  There was something there, against the wall, something that just didn’t belong there. If she could only get up and walk over, reach out and grab hold, she knew she'd find the reason for her unease: something or someone that was unseen but not unseeing.  Donna started to rise from her chair as if in a trance when something flickered in the corner of her eye.  
  
In the observation room, Hamish threw the door wide and skidded to a halt next to Alec. "There you are,” he hissed. "I was searchin' all over for you. How'd you get here so quick, then?"  He stood up on his toes in a vain attempt to see the proceedings in the interrogation room clearly from the back row.  
  
"Keating" said Alec, nodding at the man on the other side of the glass by way of explanation. "Called to tell me I should come down and collect on my bet with Cave.   Others overheard the conversation- on both ends, I might add-  and they came to satisfy their ‘professional’ curiosity."  Hamish glanced around the crowded room before looking again to Alec.    
  
"I figured the proceedings might be lively, given what you'd said about the DI's Ginger,” he continued quietly.  “I must admit, however, I wasn't expecting a fireworks display."  
  
"Ah," sighed Hamish, with a knowing smile. "What'd I miss?"  As Alec began to answer, Donna spoke again.  
  
"This is being recorded, right?" she asked, staring at the camera placed just out of the normal line of sight above.   She tried to look in the corner below the camera again but her eyes darted towards the two-way mirror instead.  
  
"Yes, of course," Ian replied, following her gaze.  
  
"So why the  standin'-room only audience?" Donna drawled, hooking a thumb towards the observation booth.  
  
"I’m sorry?" Ian said, puzzled.  He glanced around and repeated, "Standing room only?"  
  
"That mirror there?" she said, inclining her head towards it with a sardonic smirk.  "That mirror has flickered at least four times since we came in.  Light from the door as people come in to watch, I reckon."  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared right into the glass.  "I expect a cut of the take if I'm to be today's entertainment."  
  
Peter flung his chair back and a strange high-pitched squeal filled the air as it shot across the room and clattered against the wall.  He payed it no mind as he stalked out but it was too late. His expression alone could have cleared a room and the people in the observation booth next door had seen him coming.  By the time he reached the hallway, Cave was sauntering slowly down the passage with an especially impressed nod as he met Peter, but he said nothing.  Muttering curses, Peter dove past him and jerked the door open violently, only to find it empty, save for Alec. Peter slammed the door behind him and leaned back against it wearily.  He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck before letting his head fall back as he closed his eyes with a grimace. When he rolled his head around and opened his eyes again, Alec just shrugged.  
   
He watched Peter forlornly watch Donna through the one-way mirror and waited for the right moment to speak. “Rumor is this is the bit of Ginger Spice in your life,” Alec said quietly.  When he didn’t respond, Alec gave him a playful leer. “She is a spitfire, isn't she?  Hamish said so.”  Peter shot him a dirty look and stalked away to the glass but didn’t deny it.  
  
“ 'Never till this day saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd',” Alec goaded under his breath, but Peter didn’t so much as look at him.  Alec let him stew for a moment, then walked up to the speaker set in the wall.  He looked over to Peter and waited until the other man nodded before flipping the switch and Ian’s voice filled the room.  
  
“Ms. Noble, if we could get started?” he said carefully. Ian had sat a long while, looking around the room, all but twiddling his thumbs, but when it became apparent that Peter wasn’t coming back, he decided to take a statement from Donna by himself. He picked up a pen and waited patiently for Donna to turn her attention back to him.  
  
As she uncrossed her arms and began fiddling absently with the necklace she wore, Donna’s fury drained from her slowly, leaving her embarrassed and chagrinned.   "DS Keating,” she began slowly, “I'm sorry. Truly, I am. You don't deserve my invective. From this point on, I'll save it for someone who does," she promised with a significant glare at the two-way glass.  
  
In the observation room, Peter sighed heavily and Alec moved closer to him.  “ 'The course of true love never did run smooth' ,” Alec quoted with a sympathetic smile.    
  
Peter snorted and replied morosely, “ 'More matter with less art',” never taking his eyes from the occupants of the other room.  
  
“Yeah, she’s angry and so are you,” Alec said bluntly.  “But she still loves you.  She nearly leapt from her chair when you passed by on the way out and even now, she’s struggling not to look over here.”  Peter sniffed and rubbed at his nose, still watching Donna through the glass.  She was noticeably calmer now, but Alec was right: she kept shooting furtive glances at the mirror with a worried expression.  
  
In the interrogation room, after receiving terse, distracted answers in reply to his questions, Donna’s actions weren’t lost on Ian, either.  He put his pen down, folded his hands on the table and looked Donna directly in the eye.  "Ms. Noble, on behalf of myself, my partner and the Metropolitan Police Service, I’d like to thank you,” he said sincerely.  Donna blinked in surprise and looked back at him with a tiny, puzzled frown.  “Your actions were very brave and not many people would have done what you did, especially given the nature of the crime being investigated,” he continued with a nod.  “And the person of interest is cooperating, fully, it seems, as he’s being processed right now.  Again, thanks to you.”  Donna’s lips quirked and she gave an awkward nod before looking again to the glass anxiously.  
  
“But please, Ms. Noble, be reasonable,” Ian said and Donna’s head jerked back towards him.  “Bence was a suspect in the murder of another man; a particularly efficient, vicious and violent crime.”  Donna’s mouth dropped open and she prepared to retort but Ian skillfully cut her off.   “Donna, any officer- **any officer** -  would have reacted out of concern for your safety, similarly to DI Carlisle, without even knowing you," Ian said with a pointed look. “So, in light of your relationship, perhaps you can forgive him his excesses and we can continue?”  
  
Donna sobered suddenly when she saw his expression.  She dropped her necklace and focused on Ian’s face as she reached for her tea.  “DS Keating, I had a cup of scaldin’ hot liquid in my hand with the lid already off,” she explained calmly, settling back into her seat.  “I was prepared to throw it in his face if he got nasty, if things got out of hand."  She paused to sip her now-tepid tea before setting her cup back on the table before her.  "I wasn't unarmed and, contrary to what you might have been led to believe, I'm not completely stupid.  And,” she said with a intentional look over her shoulder, “I would have told the DI that myself, if he’d only given me half a chance.”

**********

It was late afternoon before Peter returned to his office and the other officers on duty had enough grace or, at the very least, enough of an instinct for self-preservation to pretend they hadn’t seen him.  After Donna had completed her statement, she shook Ian’s hand politely and left the building without even asking after DI Carlisle.  From his vantage point at the windows at the front of the Met, Peter watched her cross the street without a backward glance, heading in the direction of Cheltenham & Gloucester.  After that, he’d joined Ian in questioning Bence about Morgan’s murder, letting his partner take the lead, only asking a few questions for clarification.  Their interrogation complete, Ian escorted Bence to a holding cell and Peter stayed behind in the observation room, watching and rewatching the recordings of Donna’s statement and Bence’s questioning in order to fill out the requisite reports, declining Ian’s offer of assistance and attempts to bring him something to eat.  “I’m no hungry, and as you did most of the talkin‘, I’ll do most of the writin’,” Peter had explained before he buried himself in the work again.  He rewound the recording to the spot of static that coincided with his abrupt charge from the room.  Ian had watched him a long time before he backed out and closed the door quietly.    
  
Now, after he’d submitted the paperwork to the proper offices, in triplicate, Peter had trudged back to his own desk and sat there pensively sucking on a lolly he’d found after rummaging through a drawer.  When he’d finished with his sweet, he dropped the stick in the rubbish bin and pulled a card from his wallet before reaching into his pocket for his mobile.  “Mrs. Hooper, this is Peter Carlisle.  We met the other day in your shop, and I was wonderin’ if I could have somethin’ delivered today, somethin’ special,” he said hopefully.  “Yes, mum, it’s for the same lady, and it's kind of a rush.”  
  
His order placed, Peter sat back and rubbed his face with both hands.  Now that he’d calmed down and processed the day’s events, he looked curiously around his office. Everything was exactly as he’d left it, but the atmosphere had changed in some infinitesimal way.  He sat back at his desk, his eyes darting about, taking in every detail.  He signed heavily and shook his head: maybe he was still on edge after the interviews.  He was just about to dismiss his unease and put it down to nerves when he opened the folder on his desk and made a disquieting discovery: all of his photos of Donna together with the enigmatic Doctor Smith were missing.  
  
Shooting to his feet, he spilled the contents of the folder onto his desk and spread them out, then whirled to look about the floor.  The photos hadn’t fallen out accidentally and were nowhere to be seen.  He punched the button on his computer screen and checked his digital copies: gone.  The entire folder on his hard drive had been deleted, down to the original image files from the Met archives.  He jumped up and snatched his office door open only to be brought up short by the surprised faces of Detectives Cave and Dexter sitting at their desks.  
  
“Cave, Dexter,” Peter said, struggling to appear calm,” have either of you seen anyone near my office today?”  
  
Dexter gaped for a moment like a fish out of water before replying.  “No, DI, I haven’t.  And I haven’t left my desk since late morning,” he said significantly, staring at DS Cave.  “I had reports to fill out.”  Peter nodded, chewing his thumb thoughtfully.  
  
“And you, Cave?” Peter asked, “Did you see no one?”  
  
“No, DI.  And at least one of us has been here all day.”  When Peter simply nodded distractedly, Cave asked, “Is there anything wrong, sir?”  
  
“Wrong?  No, no, it’s nothin, nothin’ a’tall,” Peter replied, coming back to himself and looking about the room.  “And Detectives? Thank you,” Peter said sincerely before returning to his office and closing the door.  DS Cave and Detective Dexter shared a curious look before shrugging and returning to their paperwork.  
  
Peter sat back and thoughtfully chewed his pen. What did this tell him? Who could just waltz into the Met, up to his offices, rifle thorough his papers and take what they wanted and then leave, unseen?  Who had the kind of access that would allow them to rummage through his computer files?  These and a thousand other questions swarmed about in his brain as in his trousers pocket, his hand closed around his thumbdrive, complete with the encrypted backup copies he habitually kept of any important files he might need for his current cases.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting on the park bench in the gathering gloom, the Doctor stared down at the photos he'd pulled from his bigger-on-the-inside jacket pocket and frowned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- thanks again for everything.  
> Any and all mistakes are my own.

**Tuesday, 12 June 2012  6:40 PM**  
  
Sitting on the park bench in the gathering gloom, the Doctor stared down at the photos he'd pulled from his bigger-on-the-inside jacket pocket and frowned.  He must be getting old, what with all the photographic evidence he'd left behind in her camera-happy home time and place.  It had been foolish to think someone wouldn't notice eventually, he thought, as an index finger gently traced Donna's profile in an image taken in a stairwell on the night they'd been reunited, marveling at how careless and carefree his previous self had been with her.  He thought back with chagrin on their first meeting and wondered: she’d turned him down that night, the first time he asked her to travel with him, claiming that he’d frightened her.  It had hurt, much more than he had expected, and knowing her as he did now, he was sure her initial refusal to travel with him had been based more on injured feelings than fear.

  
If there were ever words he regretted more that those he’d uttered that day to her on a rooftop above London, he couldn’t recall.  He hadn’t meant them, not even as he said them, but he had been so terribly miserable, depressed and angry over recent losses, not to mention smarting over her insistent refusal to be impressed with him, that he had petulantly indulged his talent for rudeness to the fullest.  In doing so, he had inadvertently added to her sense of worthlessness, Donna’s angry retort hiding just how deeply she’d been hurt and how uncomfortably close to home she though his words had been.  He’d carry the shame of it with him the rest of his life.  
  
He looked back at the photos in his hand and shuffled them before finding the one he wanted.  The Doctor smiled wistfully when he found it: a blurry image of Donna shoving him off-balance in the offices of Adipose Industries to bring him back to himself when, once again, he hadn’t known when to stop.  He indulged in a bit of nostalgia, remembering her hair flying out behind her, blazing in the gloom as she had fled Miss Foster and her hired goons with him hot on her heels.  He shuffled through the small stack again, pausing to look at a faraway image of the two of them atop the Thames flood barrier on the night she’d laughed in his arms in her ruined wedding dress before staring at the last image in the stack.  She stood in the center of a small knot of UNIT officers, dangling an empty binder before them with a satisfied smile and he remembered how proud he’d been of her that day.  Donna had just begun to accept her brilliance and he was saddened to realize that her hard-won confidence was just another casualty of his actions.  
  
He sighed, tired of the past, and stuffed the purloined photos back into his pocket. It had been a rather straightforward matter, really, he thought, stealing the photographs from the DI's desk.  Wearing the perception filter, the Doctor had simply walked straight through security and wandered the halls, sonicing his way around the building, disabling all the cameras in his path until he’d found Homicide and Serious Crime Command.  He was surprised to find it strangely deserted, with just a single officer hunched over paperwork at his desk, but it was all the better for him. DI Carlisle’s door had been left wide open: he slipped in unseen and, with a wave of the sonic screwdriver, erased all traces of his previous self from the man’s computer and the Met’s records.  When the theft was discovered and the video inevitably checked, all they would find would be a strange trail of static snaking through the building left on the images captured that day in police headquarters.  
  
His mission accomplished, the Doctor had smiled and adjusted his bow tie as he left Carlisle’s office, pleased with the results of his infiltration: success was all in the timing.  In looking for his optimal opportunity, he’d examined the DI’s timelines and found that the argument between Donna and DI Carlisle was a fixed point, something that must happen, no matter what, which meant that the man would definitely not be in his office at the time. Once his task was completed and the evidence of his relationship with Donna erased, he’d intended to slip from the building but a familiar voice raised in anger stopped him in his tracks.  All he’d had to do was follow the sound to it’s source and join the crowd in listening in from the hallway.  
  
The Doctor smiled wickedly, remembering how much he’d enjoyed hearing the considerably vivid dressing-down Donna had given the upstart.   _He dared to question her abilities?_   _This brilliant woman had willingly shared with him the responsibility for the destruction of Pompeii!  She had single-handedly taken down a Sontaran warrior on his own ship, thus enabling him to save all of humanity!  T_ _his magnificent human had brought low the entire Dalek race and saved all of creation and this earthbound policeman dared to upbraid her for speaking to an unarmed boy!_  he thought angrily, then frowned.  
  
He had unsettled her when he’d slipped into the interrogation room as the other police officer had held the door.  All he’d wanted was a better view of Round Two, but Donna had already been upset and on edge.  In her heightened state, she had felt him watching her, accidentally contributing to her sense of unease and that really was the last thing he’d wanted to do.  He had known his presence was a mistake the moment he leaned against the wall and she had stared straight at him.  Had he stayed, he had no doubt she would have marched straight to the spot where he stood and reached out a hand to expose him.  In the end, thanks to the perception filter and another short blast from the sonic, he'd simply walked out of the interrogation behind Carlisle as the man had stormed from the room.  
  
 _And all this subterfuge was to what end?_  he asked himself, even as he knew he would never acknowledge the truth of his dirty little secret.  He sighed heavily and leaned forward, craning his neck to see around the overhanging tree branches and watch the lights flick on and off as Donna made her way though her flat.  Finally, when all her windows were dark, the Doctor stood and stretched as he made to leave.  He glanced up one more time and saw a single light in the upper window and he turned to see her, silhouetted in the window seat, staring blankly out at the stars.  She looked so forlorn and lost, searching the skies for something or someone she had no way to recognize and the guilt once more threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
He had to face the facts: he really didn’t want her to form attachments here on Earth again.  He didn’t want her to be happy here, because if he ever found a way to restore her memories, she wouldn’t want to go with him again.  Destiny and the Powers That Be in the Universe had decreed their separation and she had been made to suffer, all for one simple reason- she had made him happy, and the Universe just couldn’t have that, could it?  But that didn’t mean he had to like the judgement of Fate or abide by it.  He swept his hair roughly back off his forehead and tugged his jacket down, squaring his shoulders as he stalked into the shadows and the TARDIS beyond.  In his long lifetime, he had made an art form of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat: perhaps now was the time for his masterpiece.

 

**********

"Time to go, DI," Ian said, leaning on the doorframe to Peter's office.  
  
Peter frowned as he glanced up from his computer, scratching his head and looking over at his mobile- 7:10 PM and still no word from Donna. "Hmmm," he replied around his lolly, nodding absently. "Ye go on- I'll be leavin' presently. "  
  
"No," Ian said flatly, taking a seat across the desk from Peter.  
  
"No?" Peter queried with a raised eyebrow, resting his chin in his hand.  He flicked his eyes back to the screen for a second before leaning back in his chair, pulling off his spectacles to rub his eyes.  
  
"No," Ian repeated. "I don't think so. I've no desire to see you tomorrow in the same clothes, so I'm not leaving until you do, Peter."  
  
"Seriously,..." Peter began and Ian cut him off before he could finish.  
  
"Yes, exactly. Seriously. I'm not leaving until you do," Ian countered and sat back with his arms crossed.  
  
Peter scowled at his partner for a long heartbeat and Ian waited for him to lash out, but he just sighed.  "Ye know, yer worse than my mam. Has anyone never told ye that before now?" Peter groused, rubbing his face with both hands.  
  
"You're the first," Ian admitted with a smirk. He leaned back just far enough so he could see into Peter's rubbish bin. "So, a three-lolly problem, is it?"  he ventured cautiously and Peter ran his hands through his hair before offering his partner a rueful shrug in response. "Did you call her?"  
  
"No, I dinnae," Peter said indignantly. Ian pursed his lips and Peter shrugged again. "I texted."  When Ian remained silent, he added, "Four times. I would have called, but I thought it prudent to test the waters first, so to speak.  I did send flowers, though, to apologize," he confessed and he wondered why he found it necessary to defend himself to Ian.  
  
Ian nodded his approval.  "She'll come around, Peter. No woman gets that angry unless she's emotionally invested.  She won't let one argument end your relationship," Ian said, certainly.  
  
Peter answered with a sad half-smile, looking up at the ceiling while he spoke.  "I dinnae think so, either, and besides, I wouldnae give up on her so easily.  No," he said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, we both suffer from an excess of temper occasionally, and I’m hopin’ a wee bit of time for us both to cool down is all that’s required. But that's no why I'm still here."  
  
"Why, then?" Ian asked, sitting forward with renewed interest. "What else has turned up?"  
  
"Ah, but that's just it," Peter said mysteriously with one elbow planted on the desk, shaking his lolly at Ian. "It's no what's turned up.  It’s what’s gone missin’, and how.”  
  
Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead schooled his features to mere curiosity: the DI had a decidedly theatrical streak and he’d learned to indulge him in it.  Ian put it down to Peter spending too much time in reading and not enough with real people, but the DI liked an attentive audience and would get to the point in his own time.  “Care to elucidate?” he finally asked.  
  
“Someone took full advantage of our absence from Homicide and Serious Crime this mornin’ to commit an offense of their own,” Peter confided.  “My office files have been ransacked and information on both my computer and the Met’s archives has been deleted,” he said, leaning forward on his crossed arms.  “This was achieved, in broad daylight, from inside this very building, under the nose of every officer here today, and without the discernible use of any passwords or external hardware.”  Peter sat back thoughtfully, resting his folded hands on his belt, watching Ian carefully.  “And no one saw a thing.”  
  
“What?!?  How is that even possible?” Ian demanded incredulously.  “What was taken?  Files on the Morgan murder case?  There had to have been a witness- people here in the office?  Security cameras?”  Suddenly realizing that he was casually sitting in the middle of a crime scene, Ian leapt to his feet and looked around.  “Have you alerted building security?  Has forensics...”  
  
“Stop, Ian.  Stop.  Alec and one of the other techs have- quietly- already been here,” Peter stated evenly and there was something in his tone that gave Ian pause.  He resumed his seat slowly, never taking his eyes from Peter.  “There was no evidence of anythin’ out of the ordinary and the files that were taken had nothin’ to do with official police work or any of our cases,” he explained.  “Which is why I’m wantin’ to keep this quiet.”  
  
“Not official?  What then?” Ian asked with dawning understanding.  “Donna?”  
  
Peter nodded and Ian sat back to contemplate the implications.  “You think this was an inside job?  That someone inside the Met is responsible?“ he asked quietly.  
  
“Ye tell me,” Peter said as he turned his monitor for Ian to see.  “This footage was taken by internal security this mornin'."  Ian looked uncomprehendingly at the display on Peter's computer. The screen was divided into quadrants, each showing a different view of the hallways leading to Homicide and Serious crime. Ian watched, puzzled, as the video in one quadrant dissolved into a haze of static which then seemed to jump to the next camera down the hall.  Ian followed the distortion as it drifted across the screen and Peter continued his narration.  
  
"While Alec processed my office late this afternoon, I paid a visit to buildin' security to check the cameras.  This is what we found,” he said, tapping the screen.  “A bouncin' ball of static.  The techs were baffled and intrigued, said this shouldn’t be possible: it’s not a camera malfunction, ye see, as that would cause the entire image to be lost.  This distortion is localized, and it’s makin‘ its way through the buildin'.”  Ian watched the static shimmer and pulse from one camera to the other and Peter continued.  
  
“We were able to backtrack it to the interrogation room and before that, to the sidewalk this mornin'," Peter said, reaching over and with a few keystrokes, bringing up an image of the two of them standing in front of the Met, looking across to the coffee shop on the other side of the street.  Ian watched as onscreen, Peter charged across the street just as the ball of static rolled across the camera's field of view within a few feet of where he had been standing, heading in the opposite direction.  "A neat trick, that, don't ye think?" Peter said after a moment.  
  
Ian slowly pulled his gaze from the camera and shook his head.  "We were standing right there.  Right there," he emphasized, pointing at the screen, "and I don't remember seeing anything out of the ordinary."  
  
"We were a wee bit preoccupied at that moment," Peter murmured, "but if it makes ye feel any better, Alice doesn't remember anything out of the ordinary, either.'  He gestured at the screen just as the static skipped across the lift doors, right in front of the reception desk without eliciting any sort of reaction from the young woman seated there.  
  
Rubbing his chin, Ian muttered, “This is like something out of Ghosthunters.”  He watched the images replay on the screen and shook his head before turning to look quizzically at his partner.  "What is going on here, Peter, and how does Donna figure into all this?"  
  
"I dunno, Ian, but ye havenae seen the best part yet," Peter replied with a dangerous glint in his eye.  "There, at the end of the hallway, there's a spot where the cameras overlap.  It's no much, but it's there.”  He toggled over to another screen and another series of videos popped into view.  The image in one quadrant flickered as the ball of static rolled just out of range of one camera and into view of the next.  “And just about…," Peter said under his breath, his finger hovering over a key.  He waited and as the image trembled, switching from one video feed to the next, he stabbed the keyboard with a cry of triumph.  "There!  There's the arrogant bastard!"  
  
Ian leaned in closer to the image onscreen and blinked in surprise: two cameras, trained on the same spot at the same time, yet two distinctly different images were displayed before him.  In the first image, the ball of static could clearly be seen plunging out of frame of one camera and resolving before the other.  The image captured by the secondary camera, however, was another matter entirely.  
  
"Do you recognize him?" Peter asked, gesturing at the frozen frame revealing a lanky man with his back to the camera, wearing what appeared to be an unseasonably warm tweed jacket.  
  
“No,” Ian replied, rewinding the image a few frames to get a better look at their mysterious visitor.  Whoever it was had gotten careless in his overconfidence: he was waving some sort of remote control about in the air as he literally spun on the ball of one foot, his arm whipping out to point at the second camera just before his face became visible and he dissolved into static again.  Ian advanced the image frame by frame and watched as the cloud of static turned the corner and plunged down the hall, heading directly for Peter’s office.  The feed shifted once more to display an oblique view into Homicide and Detective Dexter at his desk.  As the distortion on screen approached him, Dexter stood and walked over to DS Cave’s desk, directly into the path of the oncoming snowstorm.  It paused as he crossed, then resumed course once Dexter had moved out of the way, disappearing into Peter’s office and out of view of the cameras.  
  
“No, I don’t know him, but I think we should meet this particular ghost as soon as possible.” Ian said darkly.  “This raises a whole host of questions,” he continued, raising a hand to tick off his points one by one.  “First, why would anyone break in here just to steal your personal files?  Second: how was this accomplished?  Third: whose red flags were raised by your investigation? Fourth: who the hell has whatever technology we just witnessed that would enable them to walk in here, unseen by the cameras and unnoticed by people who should have seen?   And finally, what the hell was Donna involved in that might explain this?”  
  
Peter leaned against the wall behind Ian, arms folded, frowning. “Again, I dunno, and even if she were talkin‘ to me right now, it wouldnae make a difference.  Donna’s no hidin‘ anythin’.  She really cannae remember what’s happened to her, I know it.  And I’m startin‘ to think that’s no accident.”  He let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud and inhaled sharply.  “I’m at a loss here.  I’m no sure where to go,” he reluctantly admitted, rolling his head to the side to look at his partner again.  
  
Ian smirked suddenly and stood, stretching his arms out and taking a step away from the desk.  “Where you go,” Ian said with elaborate emphasis, “is across the street with me to St. Stephen’s for a drink.”  Peter opened his mouth to demur out of habit but Ian cut him off.  “It’ll give you a change of scenery and the both of us time to contemplate this latest development.”  When Peter visibly wavered, Ian pressed forward.  “You’ve no excuse this time, DI,” he cajoled, “and no plans for the evening. Come out for a drink.  Just one drink.  You need it.”  
  
Peter glanced at his silent mobile for a moment and grimaced.  He looked back up at Ian and considered his words for a moment, then reached for his jacket with a resigned sigh and nodded his assent.  “All right, then.  One drink,“ Peter agreed, “But I’m buyin’.  Is that clear?”  
  
“I asked you, so by rights, first round should be on me,” Ian protested as he stepped out the door, “but as this is the first time you’ve accepted my long-standing invitation, I’ll let it slide.”  He stood and waited as Peter joined him and rubbed his hands together, grinning.  “And at long last, I have the solution to one mystery,” Ian said as Peter closed his office door behind them.  
  
Peter frowned in confusion.  “What’s that, then?” he asked with a puzzled tilt of his head as they made their way to the hallway.  
  
“How Donna was able to capture your attention, without a word, from across the street in a crowd, when half the women in this building have been throwing themselves at you for months and you haven’t so much as spared them a second glance,” Ian said with a touch of envy as they stepped into the open doors of the lift.  Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed as Ian continued.  “But after meeting her, I’m sure she’s the perfect woman for you.  She’s smart, quick-witted and fearless.  She’s not intimidated by you and she gives as good as she gets.  And best of all,” Ian smirked, leaning back against the wall of the lift, “she’s a ginger riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”  Peter’s embarrassed smile as he punched the button for the lobby was all the confirmation Ian needed.  “You never really stood a chance.”  
  
“Yeah,” Peter said somberly as the doors closed behind them, “and after today, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still dealing with the aftermath of their first real fight, Peter and Donna can't quite reconnect as Ian tries to bring some much-needed perspective to the situation.

**Tuesday, 12 June 2012  2:15 PM**

Donna Noble stood wearily as the train came to a jarring stop at the Turnham Green Station. When she'd left the Met, she'd fully intended to make her way to Cheltenham & Gloucester and just pretend that the morning had never happened, but halfway there, she turned and headed for the Tube.  She knew she couldn't handle the attention her late arrival would bring, never mind the inevitable barrage of questions she didn't want to answer, so she decided to call it a day.  Her head was already pounding and she knew that it was only a matter of time before she collapsed and let the emotions she’d kept bottled up all morning overflow: the last thing she wanted was a public breakdown.  She tried not to remember the look on Peter’s face the last time she’d seen him as he’d swept out of the interrogation room and away from her.  She’d never even seen him angry before, and she’d managed to infuriate him without even trying.  She wondered suddenly if she’d ever see him again, much less see him smile.

Fifteen minutes later, apologies to her coworkers made via a quickly-typed e-mail, she dropped her mobile back into her pocket as the train came to a stop and waited patiently as a few old-age pensioners and a young mother with a little boy of maybe five or six exited before her. Already emotionally exhausted by the day, Donna found something ineffably sad about the sight of the small child clinging to his mother's hand as he told her all about his adventures at school that morning. The boy turned to his mother and Donna compared their features, wondering how much he resembled his father and her heart ached for a little boy lost to missed chances, a boy who might have had large, dark eyes and long, elegant hands. Her own hand felt empty as she followed them down the stairs, careful to maintain her distance but near enough to hear his animated chatter. At her age, she had finally given up on having children of her own, and for a time had considered adoption, but her mother had scoffed at the idea and eventually, Donna had abandoned the notion as unfair.

Motherhood was just another experience that had passed her by in a lifetime of near misses and squandered opportunities, where being alone, the one always left behind, seemed to be the norm. Watching the boy, she briefly reconsidered the possibility of adoption before her mother's scornful words replayed in her mind.  _What?  You think it's so easy, Lady, that you'd take on the responsibility of raising a child, all by your lonesome?  Think again!  You're too flighty by half, always off at a moment's notice, your head in the clouds when your feet should be on the ground!  You're not stable enough to find, much less keep a man, and you want to bring a baby into that situation?  What kind of a proper home is that?  And don't think I'm going to step in to help!  I've already raised one child: I've no mind to do it again!_

Drowning in remembered recriminations, Donna blinked in surprise when she looked up and found herself at her back gate.  She punched in her access code, crossed the small car park and trudged up the stairs to her flat.   She was exhausted and needed nothing so much as a long, hot soak and a good cry.

Thinking back to her disgraceful behavior that morning, she sighed heavily.  Once again, she'd let her temper run rampant over her good judgement and self-restraint and she had only herself to blame for the outcome.  She had no idea what kind of damage she'd done to her relationship with her DI: Peter had never returned to the interrogation room after he'd stormed out, not that she blamed him after her appalling fit of pique.  Mindful of Peter's admonishment about time and place, she'd been too ashamed to try and search him out to apologize once Ian had concluded the interview. Instead, she had retreated to the nearest bathroom and hid in a stall, trying to work out what to do next.  She’d cradled her mobile in her hand, willing Peter to call or at least text her, but that was a foolish hope.  If she was too proud and too mortified to bring herself to call him, why should she dare think he would?  In the end, Donna had stormed from the building just as spectacularly as she'd entered it and now her regret gnawed away at her.

As she reached her landing, all Donna could do was replay the events of the morning over and over in her mind, cataloging each time she could have stopped, each time she had pushed Peter too far, each time her caustic words forced him back.  His reaction to finding her with Bence hadn’t been entirely unreasonable, under the circumstances.  He was a police officer and she had purposefully strayed into his investigation, even as he’d told her to stay put.  Her DI had every reason to be angry with her, so why had her response been so strident in return?  Suddenly, lines from her recent study popped into her mind:  _Let grief convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it_ , and she felt a hot tear of understanding slip down her cheek: she was grieving for Peter’s lost trust.  He hadn’t had faith in her judgement; he’d thought her foolish and foolhardy for speaking to Bence and had expected her to just stand there and watch that boy drown in his own guilt.   _He should have known better_ , she thought angrily, but then, how could he?  They’d only been together two months, two blissfully happy months with no absolutely no precedence for her actions and her eyes widened in understanding.  Every single thing that happened that morning, every single angry word that had been said was her fault entirely, and the realization swept over her and threatened to pull her under.

Standing at the outer door to her garden, determined not to fall apart until she was safely inside, Donna dug in her bag for her keys and cursed vividly when she dropped them at her feet.  When she stooped to retrieve them, she felt the dam inside begin to crumble and fail as her all her sorrow, anger and regret poured out of her.  Tears blurred her vision and she fumbled with the key in the lock, cursing again before she stumbled into her flat, throwing her keys and mobile on the table before storming down the hall towards her bedroom, stripping off her clothes on the way and depositing them in the hamper by her door. She snatched up a pair of old sweatpants and a frayed, familiar sweatshirt before heading to the bath for that cry she‘d promised herself, and maybe a nap after, hoping to purge her system of the effects of her lingering despair and remorse.

**********

**Tuesday, 12 June 2012  6:25 PM**

Donna woke with a gasp from a dream she couldn't quite remember. She glanced over at the bedside clock- how could it possibly be 6:30 in the evening?  She’d slept the day away, she thought with disgust as she sat up unsteadily.  Her heart was racing as though she'd run a mile and as she brushed her hair away from her face, she was surprised to find her cheeks stained with tears.  Her dream was quickly evaporating and all she was left with was a hazy memory of her own voice begging someone to stop, someone she trusted and loved.  She had vague impressions of looking up into a face she knew but couldn’t remember, a face made strange by pain and loss. She struggled to bring her breathing back to normal as the images slipped away: she'd learned the futility of trying to force her dreams back into daylight for her examination as, time and again, details slipped away like grains of sand through her fingers. Soon, all that remained of the dream was an empty, hollow feeling and nothing more.  There was one thing she could remember, though- she hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and she was starving.

She crawled out of bed and walked to the kitchen, only to be confronted with an empty fridge and bare cupboards. She and Peter had fallen into the habit of meeting up for dinner every evening and Donna hadn't been to the market in almost two weeks. It didn't really matter, she reflected, staring into the empty fridge, as she didn’t feel much like cooking anyhow.  She briefly considered going out to pick something up, but she knew she looked a fright and she didn’t have the desire or energy to get dressed. "Delivery it is, then," she muttered to herself as she shut the door.

She reached for her mobile and swiped at the screen before sighing in disgust.  She'd forgotten to charge it and it had died completely while she’d sat numbly in the bath after her cry.  She hadn't even thought to use it as an alarm when she'd dragged herself to her bedroom and collapsed in exhaustion after.  Donna pulled a takeaway menu from a drawer as she took the phone from the wall and cradled it between her shoulder and ear, hitting the speed dial for Turnaham Green Cafe.  

"Donna!" came an enthusiastic voice from the other end of the line. "What can I get for my favorite customer this evening?  Your usual?"

"Yeah, thanks," she answered automatically as she blindly groped for the mobile power cord, then paused.  "No, no Tom.  I’m sorry, I wasn't thinkin’.  Just an order of Pad Thai, please, and would you mind deliverin'?"  She set her mobile down on the kitchen island to charge and shifted the phone from one ear to the other.

"Of course, Donna. Just as soon as Kent gets back. He just left with a big order- there’s a match on tonight, you know. But we can have it over in thirty, maybe forty-five minutes? That OK?" he asked. "I'll throw in some homemade mango ice cream for the DI to make up for the wait."  Donna could hear the man smile through the line: Peter had become a favorite in his own right when he'd expressed his fondness for Tom's signature creation and Donna had noticed that the servings of ice cream had been larger ever since.

"Oh, you don’t have to do that, Tom, not tonight. No mango ice cream, thanks,” Donna said, then added, “I'm dinin' alone this evening."

"Oh, well, just chuck it in the freezer for tomorrow then and tell Peter we were taking care of him," Tom insisted before he rang off.

She stood in the kitchen as she replaced the phone on the wall and surveyed her flat, letting her memories wash over her.  In the short time they'd been together, Peter had become such a part of her life that she couldn't even order takeaway without his presence anymore.  She bit her lip ruthlessly to stop it trembling as she slowly turned in a tight circle, arms wrapped securely around herself as though that would hold her together. She’d told Peter she wanted memories of him in every room and he’d done his part to comply with her wishes: she wondered now if that had been a wise request.  She pulled her hair up and twisted it into a knot as she climbed the stairs to her attic window and missed the sound of her mobile powering up, the display alight with missed messages and calls.

**********

**Tuesday, 12 June 2012  8:22 PM**

Peter Carlisle sat in the booth with his back against the wall, legs crooked up to rest his arm, dangling his second McEwan's between his knees.  With his free hand, he flicked his mobile so that it spun round and round in tight circles on the table next to him.  Pensively watching it wobble to a halt before whirling it about again, he took another drink and sighed, letting his head tilt back to rest against the wall as he looked at the ceiling.

“So,” Ian tried again, “Tell me more about Donna.”

“What do ye want to hear that ye donae already know?” Peter finally asked quietly.  He let his head roll onto his shoulder and sniffed, regarding his partner with a surprisingly sober gaze.  “Ye know when and where I first became aware of her.  I’ve told ye the time and place of our first true meetin’, at the George.  Ye know she’s sufferin’ from a form of amnesia and that I’ve taken it upon m'self to find out all I can about her missin’ time.“  He took a long pull on his drink before setting the bottle on the table and swiveling in his seat to face Ian.

“We’ve been datin’ since shortly after our first meetin’, almost two months now,” he continued.  “I fell for her fairly quickly and she seemed to feel the same way.  We’ve spent nearly every free moment together for the past month and I’ve confessed my past sins to her so that she knows as much about Blackpool as ye now do.”  His lips quirked up in a wry smile as he rolled the base of his empty bottle on the table before him.  “I know I love her,” he confessed quietly, “and I really thought ... think ... she loves me.”  He sat back suddenly, inhaling deeply and folding his arms across his chest as he spoke to the ceiling.  “Add to that the knowledge that apparently, flowers do no work on Donna Noble by way of apology, and ye know as much as I do.”

"She might not have gotten home yet, you realize,” Ian said reasonably.  “Maybe she went out with coworkers as well?"

"Unlikely,” Peter said bluntly, his chin falling down on his chest.  “I called to see that she'd gotten to work alright and maybe try and apologize, but the office manager said she'd emailed, told them she was feelin’ ill after everythin' that had happened and had gone home.  I hinted that after her ordeal, Donna might no be in a fit state tomorrow, either, just to be safe.  That may have been a bit presumptuous of me, speaking for her now, but there it is.”  He shrugged and looked up at Ian.  “I really thought she'd call or answer m' texts before now, even if it was just to tell me off again, but this silence?  It's no like her."

Ian hid his amusement at the understatement behind his pint glass as he took a drink, but the glint in Peter's eyes and the ghost of a smile told him it hadn't been missed.  Peter looked away abruptly, then ducked his head.  "I may have driven her away for good with my bad temper, Ian, and I cannae even imagine that I might no hold her hand again."  He reached for his mobile again and checked himself, then sighed in exasperation when he gave in and flipped it over, stabbing at the display, only to find it still blank.

“You can't think like that, Peter,” Ian said slowly.  Peter rolled his eyes and lifted his bottle to his lips, frowning when he remembered it was empty.  He set it down again and folded his hands across the lip of the bottle and rested his chin on top.  Ian waited and when Peter refused to comment, Ian continued.  “Life is short and happiness within it fleeting. If she's the one you want, it’s down to you to fix this,” he said, stabbing his finger in Peter’s direction.  “And what’s more, you know it already. You love her.  She loves you.”  He lifted his glass and took a long drink and set it carefully back on the table.  “So, what are you prepared to do about it?”

Peter stared down at the table without comment and Ian waited patiently.  He’d said all he would on the subject: it was all up to Peter now.  After a long, quiet moment, still looking at the table, Peter replied, “Whatever it takes.  What choice do I have, really?”

He smiled and looked up to thank his partner but something in Ian’s expression stopped him cold.  Ian must have noticed, as he hid behind his glass once more.  Peter raised a hand, signaling for another round as the waitress passed with a nod.  He pretended to look around St. Stephens to give Ian time until the waitress set a fresh pint and another McEwan's before them.  Peter smiled his thanks at the girl and turned his attention back to Ian.

"Enough of me and my whinging,” he said as he took possession of the bottle.  “What of you, Ian?  Why is there no someone waitin' for you at home?"  He took a thoughtful drink, his eyes never leaving Ian’s face.

"There was, once," Ian admitted slowly as his expression softened before he remembered himself and his habitual stoicism settled back over his features.  "It lasted a little over three years. She ... Madeline... " he said, his voice faltering on her name.  "Maddie and I were engaged, but not anymore."  He tried to smile philosophically but Peter had worn that expression himself and was unconvinced.

“Ian...  Ian, I'm sorry,” he said.  “I dinnae know.”

“Why should you?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ian said automatically, then clarified.  “That's the problem.”

“Sorry?” Peter said with a frown, picking up the fresh bottle.

To his credit, Ian didn’t try to hide.  He met Peter’s eyes and spoke in even, measured tones.  “We met through a mutual friend, dated for a year and fell in love.  I asked her to marry me, and she agreed.  From the very beginning, I knew she was the one.”  He smiled sadly, and took a deep breath.  “Problem is, I forgot to tell her that.”

“The engagement dragged on, but every time she pressed me about setting a date, something came up.  I wasn’t trying to get out of marriage, I wanted it.  I ... did.” Peter realized Ian was carefully specific with his word choice and suspected the past tense still applied to the present.  “Anyway, she confronted me about it one night, caught me off-guard, and my response was...,” Ian rubbed a tired hand across his eyes before continuing, “...less than convincing to her.”

“When was this?” Peter asked.

“About six weeks before you came along.”

“And you never said?”

“Would it have mattered then?” Ian replied with a snort of derisive laughter.  “We weren’t exactly open with each other at the time.”

“I concede your point.  I was a wee bit of a prat when we first started,” Peter said contritely, rubbing the back of his neck.  “And what were you prepared to do to get her back?”

“I tried to talk to her.  I did!” Ian protested in response to Peter’s incredulous look.  “But she wasn’t having any of it.  I persisted and she told me to clear off, in no uncertain terms.  So I did.”

“That’s it?” Peter said bluntly.  “That’s your answer to ‘What You Were Prepared To Do’?”

“DI,” Ian said with a sigh, “she broke it off and moved in with my best mate straightaway.”  Ian watched understanding settle over Peter’s expression and looked away for the first time.  “And I’ve not seen either since.”

Peter knew he should let it lie, but that was never really his nature, and the one time he did had ended badly.  “And they’ve married?” he persisted.

Ian pursed his lips and shrugged as he lifted his pint again.  “No, actually.  She seems to be content to just live with him.  I guess lessons learned and bridges burned.”  His features fell infinitesimally and he emptied the remainder of his pint in one go.

“And you’ve never tried again?  I mean, she’s the one,” Peter prodded.

“It’s been too long,” Ian muttered, looking down into his empty glass.

“I was unaware there were limitation periods in love,” Peter replied drily.  When that failed to elicit the desired response, he shifted his tactics.  “And you've been alone all the while?”

“I've gone on a few dates, here and there, just for company, someone to go to the cinema with, that sort of thing,” Ian said offhandedly, “but that's all. It just hasn’t felt right.”  His eyes hardened before he continued.  “You only get a chance at a love like that once in a lifetime, Peter, and even then, only if you're very, very lucky,” he growled.

“You’re right, life is never the same again after a love like that,” Peter responded immediately.  “But even if you’re positive Madeline is lost to you, it doesnae follow that there’s no one else, or that you cannae love again.”  Peter nodded once, remembering past loves wistfully before bright hair and a brilliant smile filled his mind’s eye.  “It willnae be the same, but neither should it be.”

Peter looked back up at Ian and his suddenly too-bright green eyes. “Whose sorrows were we here to drown again, DI?” he asked, and Peter was thankful that the man offered him a small, sad smile of shared regret.

The silence that followed was thick and the pain of loss palpable as Peter struggled to frame his response: everything he could think of sounded either commonplace and cliched or pathetically self-serving.  Just as he’d settled on the least trite platitude and opened his mouth to speak, his mobile buzzed and danced on the table between them.  Peter snatched it up from the table and stared at the screen for a long moment as Ian looked on expectantly.  Peter's expression was unreadable and Ian watched with mounting trepidation as he punched out a reply.

**********

Donna had seen Kent approach from her perch in the window seat, so she was halfway down the spiral staircase when the intercom buzzed.  She dashed across the room and pressed the button.  “Come on in, Kent,” she said breathlessly, “I opened the gate and the garden door.  Put it on the counter while I get my wallet.”  She turned to get her purse and Kent knocked before opening the door to her flat, her takeaway order dangling from his hand and a large box cradled in his arms.  “Thanks for the delivery: I appreciate it,‘ she said, her back still to him.  “I just didn’t feel up to...”  She swung around, cash in hand to pay him and stopped dead at the sight of the box he held out to her.

“A little boy was waitin’ with this by your garden doorway,” he explained as she took it from him, handing him payment and a handsome gratuity in return.  “He asked me to bring it in for you.”

“Thanks again, Kent,” Donna replied, puzzled.  “My best to your family,” she said absently as he waved and closed the door behind him. She looked carefully at the label on the box and smiled- Wheelers of Turnham Green.  There was a sticky note affixed to the side of the box and she pulled it free and read it with a growing smile as she set the box on the kitchen island.  
  
 _Donna,_  
  
 _These came for you today.  I was sunning on the garden balcony and saw you get off the train.  You looked a bit off colour, so I assumed you were home ill and didn't hear the buzzer.  I told the boy to leave them with me and I’d have my grandson drop them by later._

_Mrs. K_

That answered the question of how the delivery person had managed to get the box to her doorway past the security gate while she was hiding out in the bath, she thought.  When she hadn't responded to the intercom, the delivery person must have just buzzed the various flats until Mrs. Kade in the last unit let them in.  But what was the occasion?  Her birthday wasn't for another month and she hadn't made any new charitable contributions recently.  She opened the box and stared dully at the tiny envelope on top of the wrapping paper within as the scent of honeysuckle filled the air.

With trembling fingers, Donna picked up the envelope and carefully peeled back the paper to find the same bouquet Peter had given her before, shot through with rue and a white flower she didn't recognize, the whole arrangement wrapped loosely with honeysuckle vines. She pulled the card from the envelope and read the names printed there in a neat hand: To Donna, From Peter. She turned it over and choked back a sob of relief. Listed along with the flowers she knew were the two new additions-

    * Rue- regret, sorrow and repentance


    * Star of Bethlehem - atonement and reconciliation



_He's going to give me a second chance. He does still love me,_ she thought as her tears spilled over and coursed down her face.  _I haven't completely ruined everything._   She lifted the flowers from the box, and inhaled deeply, smiling gratefully as the prickly Scottish thistle brushed her cheek. Donna reached up and retrieved a vase from her cabinet, filled it with water from the tap and gingerly placed the arrangement within.  She set the flowers in the center of her kitchen island and let loose a trembling breath.  She wasn’t quite ready to speak with him again and they had a lot of rebuilding to do, but things weren’t as hopeless as she’d feared.

She reached for her mobile then and inhaled sharply.  She’d missed three phone calls- one from work, one from her mother and one from Nerys- and four text messages, all from Peter.

     - _Donna, I’m sorry.  Call me, please._

      _-You’re not at work.  Are you OK?  Call me._

      _-Donna, I just need to know you’re alright.  Please, just text me back._

      _-I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.  I miss you.  Please, just let me know you’re OK._

She bit her lip as she read his texts and she could hear his growing worry and concern at her lack of response.  She wouldn’t be surprised if there was a knock at her door right then and she quickly tapped out a reply.

_The flowers are lovely.  I missed the delivery.  My neighbor got them for me._

     - _I'm glad you like them._

_Where are you?_

      _-With Ian. You?_

_Home._

      _-Donna, I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t all your fault._

      _-When can I see you?_

_Give me tonight to rest and calm down.  We’ll talk tomorrow night, yeah?_

      _-I miss you. I love you._

_I love you, too, Detective Dumbo._

     - _Lunch Thursday before we meet the family?_

_You still want to?_

      _-Of course.  It’s a date._

**********

Peter set his mobile down on the table and grinned at Ian.  “Maybe flowers work after all,” he said as he waved again at the passing waitress.  “This round’s on me, and supper, too.”

Ian relaxed and smiled into his pint, enjoying Peter’s infectious mood as he chatted animatedly with the girl taking their order.  He envied his good fortune for a moment before he grew pensive.   _Is Maddie truly lost to me forever?  Did I really try?  And what's the worst that could happen if I tried again?_  He pulled out his mobile and flicked open his contact list, looking for a number he hadn’t rang in almost a year before taking a last mouthful of courage from his glass and excusing himself for a moment from the table.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna woke with a start as her alarm blared the chorus of some silly dance song Nerys had downloaded on her mobile out of boredom the last time she’d gone to the loo at the George and left it on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deepest apologies for the tardiness in posting this next part- RL is kicking my arse right now.

**Wednesday, 13 June 2012    6:15 AM**  
  
Donna woke with a start as her alarm blared the chorus of some silly dance song Nerys had downloaded on her mobile out of boredom the last time she’d gone to the loo at the George and left it on the table.  She fumbled desperately amongst the cushions piled in her second-floor window seat, finally silencing the alarm entirely by accident when her mobile tumbled to the floor and shot across the room, coming to rest against the baseboards.  She sat up with a groan, dragging her hand through her hair and looking around groggily. It couldn’t possibly be time to get up for work...could it?  She must have just dropped off, her exhaustion was so complete and she felt faintly ill.  Her head was so congested that she could barely draw a complete breath as she rolled over and up into a sitting position, and she felt as if her brain was was a super bouncy ball ricocheting about within the confines of her skull.  
  
 _This will never do_ , she thought sourly: she had to get up and get moving if she was going to make it in to work on time, and that was a moral imperative, given the appalling way she’d skived off the previous day.  Donna hauled herself down the spiral staircase and across her flat to the loo, flipping on the light and almost retching at the sudden pain that flared behind her eyes.  When she could finally open them again, she immediately wished that she hadn’t.  She looked terrible: her eyes were puffy, red and swollen and she had no one to blame but herself.  She swallowed, then groaned as she realized her throat was raw and her voice ragged, two more victims of the emotional jag she’d indulged in as she’d cried herself to sleep the night before.  
  
There was no excuse for it, she thought angrily as she ran hot water over a flannel, folded it to fit over her eyes and downed two paracetamol.  As she turned off the light and headed for her bedroom to get dressed, Donna reflected on her current circumstances. She’d made up with Peter the night before ... sort of ... via text, and he’d obviously been willing to speak to her at the time.  She’d been the one to ask for time to calm down, not him and she'd been both grateful and genuinely happy that he'd gone out of his way to send flowers to apologize, seeing as how their blowup had been mostly down to her own stupidity. But when it had been time for bed, she’d found that her happiness wouldn’t carry her through the night and she couldn't relax, much less fall asleep in her own room: her bed was too big now without him.  
  
Frustrated and disgusted with her moodiness, she'd trudged to the couch and thrown herself down in front of the telly to try to fall asleep watching old movies. It might have even worked, had she not yawned and stretched in the middle of Casablanca. Instead, she found herself trembling inside and out when her hand had brushed up against the cold metal of the couch frame and memories of Peter flooded her mind, images of him bound with his own tie, straining against his bonds and writhing desperately beneath her. She’d bitten her lip as she remembered his voice as he'd cried out her name and she’d been dismayed by how much just the memory of him affected her.  After that, the possibility of getting any rest on the couch- maybe ever again- was lost.  
  
Exhausted beyond reason, Donna had snatched the blanket from the back of the sofa and tromped wearily up the stairs to her reading bower.  She’d tucked herself into the window seat and plucked her book from behind a pillow, trying to lose herself in a convoluted tale of love and deception. After a few pages, just as her head nodded and the book had slipped from her fingers, she’d jerked violently awake with the unshakable feeling that she was being watched.   _That’s what naturally comes of sleeping in windows_ , she’d chided herself as she’d searched the darkened street below, trying to find a source for her discomfort.  
After a few fruitless minutes, she’d given up looking and settled back, curling herself into a ball of misery- even here, she found she couldn’t escape her sorrows.  Every time she’d closed her eyes, she’d felt Peter’s arms encircle her, his breath tickle her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise as he’d whispered long, lovely lines of poetry to her, his lips on her neck, his hair brushing her shoulder as he’d dipped his head to kiss her.  Sobbing, she’d finally surrendered, letting herself slip and drown in her regrets as her tears spilled over, and she fell asleep with shame and self-recrimination her only bedfellows.  
  
It was only then that a lone man sitting on a bench beneath the trees in the park across the way had stood and disappeared into dark blue shadow as a rusty, echoing groan filled the night air.

 

**********

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning slightly back against the rear wall of the lift.  He was grateful for the crush of people that morning as it made it easier to blend in and not draw obvious attention to himself, something he was anxious to avoid in light of the previous day's events.  He was quite aware of at least one member of the secretarial staff shooting furtive glances his way, but he chose to ignore her and focused instead on the chiming of the lift to cover his unease.

Last night in St. Stephens, he'd been relieved that Donna had finally responded to his texts and his apology had been accepted, and he and Ian had gone so far as to celebrate the tentative reconciliation with supper and another round of drinks.  He'd even left the pub with a cheery wave for his partner, a buoyant spring in his step and an optimistic outlook.  But by the time he'd reached home, his good mood had evaporated, dissipating completely as he'd turned the key in the lock and entered the ringing silence of his flat.  
  
He'd walked the darkened hallway from the front door to his bedroom quickly, ruthlessly focused on the mechanics of getting ready for bed: he'd wanted to avoid the melancholy storm he'd felt approaching at all costs. He’d hung his coat and jacket in the wardrobe, then tossed his trousers over the back of a chair, stripping perfunctorily and heading for the shower.  
  
As the warm water had sluiced over his head and shoulders, Peter made his first mistake of the evening and closed his eyes.  In his mind's eye, he'd seen bright red hair darken and mould itself to Donna's head and shoulders as she'd stood before him in the shower.  His breathing had quickened and become irregular as he’d remembered her hands slowly traveling across his chest and down his arms, slipping down to cup his bum and urge him closer.  He’d bowed his head and licked the water from his lips, recalling the feel of her mouth on his as he'd peeled her drenched garments away from her body and let them fall before pressing her gently to the wall and kissing his way down her gloriously naked form.  He’d tried to push the memories away, to focus on the singular sensation of the hot water on his scalp, his neck, his chest, but his thoughts had strayed back to her again and again.  Frustration and exasperation had warred within him and Peter had finally grabbed the soap and impatiently scrubbed his body, trying to wash away his dark mood.  
  
Everything that had occurred was entirely down to his actions, and when he‘d lost his temper with Donna and spun dramatically out of control, so had the situation.  He’d winced when he thought of the last time he'd seen her from the window high above the street. She'd stalked away from the Met and from him, heedless of the curious stares she left in her wake, and even from a distance, he could see that she was trembling with suppressed fury.  She'd never once looked back or sought him out and that was not the way the day was supposed to have gone.  
  
Peter's hands had slowed on his body as he’d stepped back fully into the water to let the warm stream rinse away both the lather and the tensions he'd worked up.  He’d leaned hard against the shower stall, bracing himself with one hand as the warm water ran in rivulets down his shoulders, catching in the small of his back before slipping down the cheeks of his arse.  In a moment of weakness, he’d imagined how differently the day might have ended and he’d inhaled deeply, almost involuntarily, as she was suddenly there.  
  
 _He'd felt Donna press herself to him, embracing him from behind, her lips brushing across his back as a pale, freckled arm wrapped around his waist.  His free hand became hers as he’d remembered how she'd splayed her fingers wide across his belly and his breathing hitched at her teasing, feather-light touch on his cock. He'd shifted his hips slightly and her grasp had become surer, more confident, as she'd increased both the pressure and the speed of her caress, from root to tip and back again.  Donna rolled a slick fingertip across that spot just under the head as she’d pulled his length up and against his stomach and Peter had bitten his lip to suppress a moan deep in his chest.  Her lips had quirked into a smile against his skin when she'd felt the slight tremor in his thighs and her other hand had slipped from his waist to gently cup his balls as a single sob broke free from Peter's tight control._  
  
 _She'd shifted to his side to let him fall back against the wall and Peter's head had tilted up automatically, exposing his throat to her lips and the steamy water from above.  He'd widened his stance, his hips unconsciously tilting forwards as the muscles in his bum tightened, his thighs flexing and straining as her hand continued to work his length and his release had inched agonizingly closer.  Donna had stroked him harder then, faster, playing the pad of her finger just barely against that spot where his shaft joined the head of his cock.  He'd held his breath as her hand tightened on him, twisting slightly and that tiny, additional jolt was exactly enough to push him over the edge._ Peter had come in long, hot spurts, and he'd shuddered violently as his world went blindingly white behind his eyelids: he'd heard her husky murmur - _I love you, Policeman_ \- and he felt her lips brush his ear.  As his climax ebbed away and his body returned again to his voluntary control, Peter had lifted a shaky hand to stroke Donna’s cheek and opened his eyes to find himself still alone.  
  
He’d pushed his sodden fringe from his eyes as he slipped to the floor, sitting heavily. Resting his head back against the wall, the hot water had coursed down his body and he’d let it wash away the evidence of his lack of self control.  HIs relief was palpable but temporary; it had already begun to fade and ultimately, it only served to make him feel worse as he’d slowly climbed to his feet and shut the water off.  Peter had snatched a towel from the counter and dried his body as he’d grimly considered his course of action.  It was only through the grace of God and the generosity of Donna Noble that he'd been granted another chance and he'd be damned if he was going to squander the opportunity.  
  
He’d padded silently back to his bedroom and pulled on a pair of clean shorts before climbing into a cold and lonely bed.  _Why did I react so violently?_ he’d thought as he lay alone in the dark.  Donna was right- she was a bright, capable woman who was clearly able to take care of herself.  Based on her reactions to the circumstances she’d faced in confronting Bence, Peter had begun to believe that she wasn’t a stranger to risky situations, that perhaps she’d actually had some sort of crisis intervention training, even if she couldn't consciously remember it.  She'd been too calm, too composed in the face of danger and Peter realized suddenly what had triggered his outburst: she wasn't afraid for herself.  Her compassion for a boy she'd never before met - a boy who may have been a violent criminal, guilty of murder - had overridden her instinct for self-preservation and she'd plunged in without a second thought.  It was almost as if she didn’t see her own intrinsic worth, only valuing what she could do for others.  
  
In response to his sudden awareness, Peter had turned fitfully onto his side, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable and he’d made his second mistake of the evening when he closed his eyes in exhaustion and drifted off into a fitful doze. He saw Donna again, and this time the bright red surrounding her was her life's blood seeping away in a widening pool as she choked out a last breath, dying alone in a darkened alleyway as he searched for her desperately in the night.

 

**********

**Wednesday, 13 June 2012    7:45 AM**  
  
 _Ten minutes._ She was only supposed to have closed her eyes for ten minutes and now she really was going to be late for work.  Her head was still congested and although the pounding had subsided somewhat, she was still faintly nauseous as she turned in bed to look at the mirrored doors of her closet.  She sighed ruefully- today was just not going to happen.  She felt horribly guilty, but she knew she’d be next to useless in her current state and end up being more trouble than she was worth if she did make it to work.  She picked up her mobile to call her office.  
  
“Cheltenham  & Gloucester,” came the efficient response, “Sophie speaking.  How may I direct your call?”  
  
“Sophie, it’s Donna.  Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m feelin’ a bit off this mornin’,” she began apologetically.  “Can I speak to Mr. Davies, please?  My allergies...”  
  
“Donna, love, don’t worry about a thing,” Sophie cut in quickly.  “A woman from the Met called yesterday morning and told us all about what had happened on your way to work.  Then later on in the day, a DI Carlisle called to apologize for keeping you later than anticipated and said, given what you’d been through, you probably wouldn’t be able to make it in today.  Honestly, after he explained what happened in the coffee shop, we weren’t expecting to see you for the rest of the week, not even Mr. Davies, so you might as well relax,” she finished in a breathless rush.  
  
“Oh, he did?” Donna breathed in surprise.  “Well, then, I...”  
  
When Sophie spoke again, her voice was curiously hollow, as if she were furtively cupping the phone. “Donna, forgive my curiosity, and I won’t tell another soul, but the DI who called?” she asked quietly.  “Was that him?”  
  
“Him?  Him who?” Donna replied, still stunned.  
  
“The one you lunch with all the time,” Sophie snorted quietly in amusement.  “Tall, dark and handsome in a black coat, and obviously besotted with you.  I wouldn’t have put two and two together,” she rambled on, “but Grace in Customer Relations mentioned once that he had a Scottish accent, so I just assumed...”  
  
“How the hell does Grace in Customer Relations know he has a Scottish accent?” Donna demanded, outraged.  
  
“Down, girl!  We’ve all seen you at lunch around the corner with him,” Sophie said quickly by way of explanation.  “Grace simply mentioned once that she went in to pick up her order and heard him talking to you and thought she detected a hint of a Scottish lilt. Just a bit of curiosity, nothing more, I promise.”  
  
“Oh, well, I...” Donna stuttered, abashed.  She felt her cheeks burn and started to apologize when Sophie came to her rescue.  
  
“Donna, stay home.  Relax and recover.  You’ve had a fright, and we’ve got things under control here.  You’re all up to date and although we miss you, we’d rather you recover properly than rush back,” Sophie soothed.  “And if you feel like it, when you get back, tell me more about your DI, eh?” she teased gently.  
  
“Alright,” Donna agreed.  “And Sophie?  Thanks.  Really.  For everythin’.”  
  
“See you Monday, and not before,” Sophie replied with a smile in her voice as she rang off.  
  
Donna lay back on the bed for a moment, staring at a tiny crack in the ceiling. So what if she and Peter had been seen together at lunch by her coworkers?  It was only natural.  After all, the shop they frequented, Eat, was just around the corner from both their offices and it wasn’t like either of them was trying to keep their relationship a secret.   Donna was simply taken aback when she realized that her coworkers noticed and were curious enough to mention seeing her with Peter to others.  She’d stayed in one place long enough to start making friends and she was surprised to find that the idea didn’t bother her.  In fact, she was almost sure she liked this unexpected development.  _Donna Noble, putting down roots, making friends, staying in one place?_ She all but smiled as she sat up and began to get dressed.  
  
Donna trudged back down the hallway to the loo to brush her teeth and wash her face.  She could feel her mood teetering between despondent moping and frenetic activity and consciously decided on the latter.  At least some good would come of the situation she’d created if she could get some housework done.  
  
As she walked back to the living area and popped a CD into the sound system, she reflected on her earlier mental statement.  She was wrong- there was something else good that came about as a result of her colossal cock-up.  Peter had been out with Ian the previous night, presumably venting his frustrations and getting a bit of advice.  For just a moment, she was nervous about what that might mean before she remembered Ian’s words to her and his warm smile.  No, if Peter had been out with Ian and had finally confided in his partner, it could only be a good thing.  
  
As Adele began crooning, her lush voice filling up Donna’s flat, Donna felt her mood lighten slightly.  She headed back down the hall, intent on working her way out of her funk and she found herself sauntering in time to the music.  She smiled as she recalled sitting between Peter’s knees on the back stairs at the George, mouthing the words to him and before she knew it, she was belting the song out, off key and at the top her lungs in her echoing, cavernous bath room.  When the song was over, she leaned back against the wall with a slightly giddy giggle: Adele was just what she needed right then and it felt good to let loose like that.  
  
Two hours later with the CD on repeat, her loo and her bath room sparkling clean, laundry folded, put away and the floors freshly mopped, Donna walked toward her kitchen and looked through the window at her courtyard entry garden.  The morning sun was bright and warm, and she decided to continue her constructive cleaning assault outside before it became too hot to do so.  She stepped outside and took a deep breath- her small space was crammed with flowers spilling over their containers and basil, rosemary and mint overflowed the small built-in beds on either side of her doorway.  
  
As she surveyed her space, Donna was pleased to see a multitude of bees and even a few butterflies dancing among the foliage.  In recent years, she had developed a fondness for bees and their comforting hum so she always planted things that would attract the industrious little insects to her garden.  The beds, however, desperately needed thinning and, with a smile, she decided to repot the cuttings and take a few to Sophie and maybe her mother.  
  
She moved to the covered pail of potting soil she kept in the corner and looked about, confused.  Donna knew she had a few empty pots left over from her last planting, but glancing around, she couldn’t find them.  She opened the courtyard door and peered out onto the landing, locating the empties where she’d accidentally left them, tucked behind the large potted ivy trellised up against the wall.  She pushed the door open wide and smiled unconsciously at the slight breeze that passed her as she lugged the stack of pots inside.  
  
She filled each pot with soil and set them in a line before her unruly beds and turned to get her pruning scissors from the small cupboard against the wall.  The warm sunlight and the humming of the bees acted as a balm for her bruised heart and Donna stood tall for a moment, closing her eyes and raising her face to the mid-morning sun, relaxing in its warmth.  As the weight of her guilt and regret slowly slipped from her shoulders, she was suddenly positive that everything would be all right.  She and her Policeman could move on from this and maybe even find their relationship all the stronger for having been tested.  With a tiny smile of contentment, she hefted the last and largest pot up onto her hip and moved back amid the droning of the bees to begin taking cuttings.  
  
As she approached her doorway, crowded with pots, she heard a curious scuffing sound echo in the small enclosure and the buzzing of the bees took on a strange, higher-pitched whine.  Donna looked around in confusion for the source of the sound as she heard a tiny whoosh of air and her door popped open in response.  Frowning, she reached for the knob and pulled it back into place, making sure to close the door properly this time.  The weight of the pot on her hip made her overbalance and she stumbled, spilling a wide swath of soil across the concrete before her threshold.  She regarded it with a bemused expression for a moment before she sighed.  _Well, I’ve got to tidy up afterwards anyway, so no harm done_ , she thought, returning to her task with a shrug.  
   
Once she’d finished, Donna stood up and stretched, leaning back and surveying her handiwork.  She reached into her pocket and checked the time on her mobile. _10:20- Not bad for a morning’s work,_ she though to herself.  Slipping her phone back into place, she leaned over and took a few quick snips of basil to make a simple Insalata Caprese for lunch. Her pantry was still woefully bare, but a quick trip to the market after she washed up would put that in order.  It was a bit early for lunch, but as she'd skipped breakfast that morning, she was starving and she contemplated texting Peter while she was out shopping.  She decided to wait just a bit longer before contacting him as she stepped into her flat over the potting soil she'd spilled earlier, careful not to track any inside.  
  
Adele was still blasting out from her sound system and Donna crossed the room and lowered the volume before walking back to the kitchen.  Humming along quietly to herself, she lay the basil cutting on the counter and turned on the tap to wash her hands when something crept across her shoulders and up the back of her neck: that sudden, irrational, unshakeable sensation that came from being watched. Before she could stop herself, she whirled around and found ... nothing.  Of course. She was in her own flat and there was no one else with her. Donna bit her lip in consternation as she surveyed the bright, airy room before her, stepping back cautiously until she felt the counter behind her.  
  
With one final lingering glance, she turned to the cabinets to retrieve a glass.  She filled it with water and as she did so, she opened her mouth and closed her eyes, trying to bring her breathing back under her control. She rinsed the basil and placed it in the glass, wiping her trembling hands on the dish towel before putting the cutting into the fridge.  She clung to the door handle for just a moment, before releasing a long, shuddering breath and gathering her courage.  It didn’t matter what her eyes told her- she knew there was something there and she was suddenly indignant.  
  
“Oi!,” she bellowed, spinning around and stalking over to the sofa to address whatever was in the room with her.  “I don't believe in ghosts or fairies or..or house elves or nargles or any of that other nonsense, so whatever you are, you can just get the bloody hell out!  You don't scare me now and you never will,” Donna snarled, with only a tiny tremor in her clenched fists: whether it was from fear or fury, not even she could say. “I mean it!  I’m warnin’ you,” she growled as she turned toward the dining room, slowly pivoting in place, “You can just take your invisible arse out right now and go haunt someone else!  I’ve had enough of this nonsense to last a lifetime!  This is my home!  Get out!”  There was a tiny noise, the brush of fabric against fabric as she looked about sharply, starting violently as she saw something move in the far corner.  The shadow there shimmered and flickered for a moment, threatening to resolve itself into the rough outline of a body and Donna gasped in disbelief, arms outstretched as she moved toward it.  
  
And then she heard it again- a high-pitched whine she almost recognized from her dreams. It was only for a fleeting second and she looked around wildly for its source as a brutal gust of wind threw the door beside her open wide, slamming it against the wall. Donna jumped back, startled, and felt a light flurry of something ruffle her hair and ghost across her cheek as it passed. She raised her hand to her face and blanched as she realized whatever had touched her had come, not from outside the open door beside her, but from the shadowy corner she had been advancing upon. She darted into the corner and spun around, searching with her hands as well as her eyes, but the space was empty.  
  
Donna closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as she moved to close the door.  “There’s nothing here.  The wind blew the door open.  I didn’t shut it properly,” she rationalized, “and I haven’t had enough sleep.  I’m just knackered and my imagination is runnin' amok.  No need to go about havin' kittens.“  She shook her head with an embarrassed chuckle and the thought of a nap after lunch quite caught her fancy.  She snagged her purse, mobile and keys from the table and was mentally preparing her shopping list as she pulled the door back to close it, examining the wall behind for damage, when she happened to glance down. There, in the potting soil she’d spilt on the threshold, Donna saw a single, perfect imprint of a man’s boot leading away from her door and she crumpled to her knees.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally shares what he's learned and what he suspects about Donna's past with her.

**Wednesday, 13 June, 2012 11:50 AM**

Ian looked up quizzically from his sandwich as Peter leaned away from the table and fumbled for his mobile in his coat pocket.  His face lit up as he glanced at the display and there was a smile in his voice as he answered.

“Hullo, Donna," he said waggling his eyebrows at Ian across the table.  "How are ye this fine mornin'?"  It was the first time Peter had actually spoken more than two words at a go all day and Ian rolled his eyes with an indulgent smirk.  An amused jibe at his partner's expense died on his lips as he saw Peter's expression fall, becoming grave as he stilled and his voice lost it's playful tone.

"Donna, what is it?  What's wrong?" Peter asked urgently with a worried look at his friend across the table. Ian cocked his head to the side inquisitively and Peter responded by pulling the phone away from his ear slightly so that Ian could hear Donna's tremulous response. 

"Peter...," Donna said with a slight quaver in her voice, "...could you... if it's not too much trouble... could you come over?  Please?"

"Of course," he responded immediately, glancing up at his partner. Ian nodded his assent and Peter continued. "What's happened?"

"It's probably nothin'," she demurred, "but I think...." Ian heard the hesitation in Donna's response and frowned, leaning closer to the phone. "I think there was someone in my flat this mornin'," she finished with reluctance.

"What?" Peter demanded, starting up from the table. "Where are ye now?  Are ye safe?"

"They're gone… I think.  But there was … someone ... here.  I mean, I didn’t actually see anyone …  but **somethin'**  was here," she stammered, annoyed with her inability to convey what she'd experienced.  "I was out in my garden this mornin', and I don't know how, but when I came in from workin’, someone was already inside," she babbled, only stopping to gulp for air.

"Donna, slow down. Tell me what happened," Peter said evenly, forcing himself to remain calm in the hopes of influencing Donna.   He stood stock-still and stared at Ian while he fought to stay detached and rational and he heard her take a shuddering breath and exhale raggedly before continuing.

"Peter, I'm fine. Really," Donna said, putting on a brave face. She switched her mobile from one ear to the other, tossing her hair over her shoulder before continuing. "And I know how mental this sounds, but I'm sure. Someone was here, " she tried to clarify before giving up with a growl of exasperation.  "Oh, Peter, please!  Just come over!  I can show you…"  She stalked over to her doorway and carefully moved the large cardboard box she'd placed over the footprint to preserve it from the winds swirling about in her courtyard garden.  She snapped a picture and texted it to him. "I mean, I didn't just imagine  **this**  on my doorstep, now did I?" she cried, her mood seesawing between desperation and frustration.

"Hang on, did ye just send me a photo? It hasnae come through yet," he said. "I'm putting ye on speaker so Ian can hear and so I can look at what you sent. 

Donna continued as though she hadn't heard. "Peter, this wasn't there when I came in from gardenin' a few minutes ago, I know, I looked down when I came in to avoid trackin' in the dirt I'd spilled," she said and she was disgusted to realize her hands were shaking.

"Donna, love, ye've got to calm down, tell me more," Peter started to say when her text came through.  He paled visibly, staring at the mobile in his hand as Donna continued.

“I went in and I got the strangest sensation that someone was there and then the door just blew open and when I went to close it, the print was there, in the dirt. And before that, I swear, there was somethin' in the corner of my dining room, but I couldn't see it.  And then I told it to get out and my door opened by itself and I heard the courtyard door slam..." Donna sobbed over the phone in mounting hysteria, trying to bring herself back under control.  "I know it sounds completely bonkers, but I swear,  **someone - was -here** , in my flat, with me. But I never saw a thing. Never. It was like a ghost or somethin'."

"Donna, get out of there, now," Peter cut in firmly, his voice tight with concern as he flashed the image to Ian and ran for the car.  "Leave everythin': just get out. Get out and go to a neighbors' or one of the ground floor shops, alright?  Ian and I- we're on our way."

 

**********

**Wednesday, 13 June, 2012, 2:20 PM**

Donna sat on her sofa, arms wrapped tightly about her, breathing in and out mechanically.  She’d been still and quiet, almost as if she were in shock, since Peter had come for her as she’d sat in the window of the Turnham Green Cafe.  He’d put his arm around her and tried to guide her to his car, but she’d shook her head and looked at him pleadingly.  “I don’t want to be alone,” she’d said quietly.  Her eyes had widened when the Crime Scene Investigation van had pulled up into her car park but she’d insisted on accompanying them as they’d headed up to process her flat.  Ever since, she’d sat quietly, unmoving and unmoved.

Peter had been torn, awkwardly switching between supervising the search for trace evidence and trying to engage Donna in conversation.  Ian walked back from securing the rest of Donna’s flat and paused in the hall doorway, watching Peter waver before moving to meet his partner.  “The rest of the flat is clear.  There are no signs of forced entry and nothing seems to be amiss,” he reported.

“Good.  Thanks,” Peter replied tersely, still watching Alec.  Ian could see just how tightly the other man was wound, especially when Peter began searching his coat pockets for the now-contraband sweets he used to carry.  Peter was too close to this and he needed to settle other matters before he could be useful again, and Ian decided the best thing he could do now was facilitate that process.

“We’ll have to have Donna verify that, though,” Ian prodded, nudging Peter hard in the shoulder.  When he looked over in surprise, Ian raised his eyebrows and gave a meaningful nod towards Donna while moving over to speak to Alec .  Peter grimly smiled his thanks before going to sit beside her, quietly explaining what Alec and Hamish were doing in the far corner of the room as Donna continued to stare at the wall.

Just as Peter began to grow concerned at her silence, he saw her hands flex on her arms and her eyes flicked to him for a split second as she hissed under her breath, “I called you, Copper, not the bloody Met. I didn't realize you were bringin’ a whole flippin’ division with you!”  She chewed the inside of her lip and looked down at the floor, refusing to meet his questioning gaze.  She was trembling slightly, angry and afraid, and angry that she was afraid, but otherwise holding it together.

“Donna,” Peter replied gently, beginning to understand her uncharacteristic lack of response, “Ian, Alec and Hamish are hardly a division. And they're here to help, as friends.”  He hazarded placing a tentative hand on her shoulder and was relieved when she leaned into him for a moment before she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.  Donna tried to believe him, tried hard to relax, but it was one thing to tell Peter she'd panicked because of a ghost: it was entirely something else for others to know.

Determined to break though her discomfort, Peter moved closer to Donna and dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “Besides, wee Hamish over there?” Peter indicated the young tech with a barely perceptible nod. “Based on his reaction as he emerged from the CSI vehicle when he arrived in yer car park, not to mention his behavior since enterin’ yer flat, I’m fairly certain that he fancies ye.”

Donna's lips twitched into a begrudging smile as she noticed the surreptitious looks the young man shot her way between flashes of his camera. Peter sat back and sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest while still managing to brush his leg up against hers.  “Oh, yes.  Hamish, he fancies ye,” he declared with theatrical irritation.  “He just caught ye lookin’ his way.  Yer making his month right now.  I wouldnae be surprised if he attempts to chat ye up before he goes.”  Donna’s smile grew sincere and she rolled her eyes in response, leaning back and snuggling against him a bit as she began to relax.  Peter carefully kept a straight face as he added, “I trust ye’ll set him straight, or should I?”, only breaking out into a grin when Donna relented and smacked him soundly on the shoulder.  He started to put an arm around her when he noticed Alec stowing away his equipment.  Slipping seamlessly into professional mode, he whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before he left her to rejoin his colleagues.

Alec stood from his kit and stretched, stripping off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket. Under his breath, he muttered, “Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.”  Peter heard him as he approached, but in his agitated state, the quote failed to register.

“Well, what's the news?” Peter asked as he came up to next to Alec.  “What did ye find?”

“Can't find anything when there's nothing  **to**  find,” he replied with a shrug. “Sorry, DI, Donna.”  Peter felt something behind him and glanced over his shoulder, not completely surprised to find that she had followed.  She started to open her mouth to protest when Alec continued. “He's good, I'll give him that. Once again, not a trace left behind -excepting the boot print - and I've sent photos of that on ahead to the lab for analysis.”

“Once again?” Donna breathed quietly. “Once again?  You've seen this before?”  She looked between Peter and Alec in wonder.  “You believe me?”

“Of course,” said Ian, stepping up beside her casually. “After what happened yesterday afternoon?”  He turned his attention to Peter, saying, “It’s got to be the same man, and I somehow doubt he’s related to our original investigation.  The guy Bence implicated in Morgan’s murder is just a mid-level drug dealer. This level of sophistication and stealth is way beyond what Bence’s statement and our records indicate Tippet’s capable of. 

Peter nodded his agreement, mulling over the evidence.  “No, you’re right, Ian,” he agreed.  "Bence said he’d been hiding out because he’d known Tippet would come after him if he went to the police,” he explained to Donna before turning back to address Ian.  “But Donna?  She never even saw him.  There's no logic in him coming after her, unless it was just to get at Bence and unnerve him and I doubt he'd go to those lengths."

"I agree," said Alec, standing as he finished packing his gear.  "No, this has to be the same man who broke into your office, Peter."  Donna’s eyes widened in disbelief and she bit her tongue, watching the exchange between the men with uncharacteristic quiet. 

"This guy?  I’m thinking he was here for some sort of damage control," interjected Ian, crossing his arm across his chest and stroking his chin.  "It seems to me that he must have known Donna before, and now, for whatever reason, he’s using some stealth technology to do with UNIT and maybe even Donna's work with Doctor Smith to help him get around unnoticed.  But here's the thing," he continued, shaking a finger at Peter.  "I don’t think he means to do Donna any bodily harm.  I mean, he had ample opportunity to do so if he’d wanted to, based on her statement."  Ian turned to her suddenly, catching her off-balance.  "Donna, did you get any inkling that whoever was here wanted to hurt you?" he asked.

"No," she replied automatically.  "No, I don’t think so."  She stopped to think, struggling to provide the evidence to back up her statement and after a few moments, she added, “After all, when he touched me, he was gentle, not threatenin' in the least."

Peter started, rounding to face her.  "He touched ye?" Peter snapped, his expression stormy and dark.  "Ye dinnae tell me that earlier."

"I thought it was the wind at first, but lookin’ back on the whole thing the way you all are talkin’ about it puts what happened in a different perspective," she shot back, one hand on her hip.  She raised the other hand and poked Peter once in the chest.  "And it sounds to me like there are more than a few things goin’ on you haven’t told me about either,  Sherlock."  The shock that had dampened her fire was dissipating and Hamish turned away to hide his grin while Alec busied himself with organizing the gear in the Data Collection Kit at his feet.

Peter tilted his head back slightly and stared at her for a moment before nodding once. "Aye. Yer right. We'll talk, but for right now, pack a bag and get whatever bits and bobs ye need together for at least the next week. Until ye get a proper security system put in here, yer comin’ with me," he stated flatly, his tone suggesting he'd brook no opposition, but that carried no weight with the likes of Donna Noble. She pursed her lips and arched a brow at his presumption which he pointedly ignored.  "Motion detectors, sensors on each window, remote panic button, the whole lot," he continued, gesturing about with a bit more emphasis than the situation called for.

"DI, that's not necessary," Donna said cooly, crossing her arms and taking a step back.  "I'm fine now.  I can take care of myself." She looked to Ian for support and was dismayed to see him slipping out the door followed by Alec, towing Hamish behind.  Without an audience other than her lover, Donna deflated slightly. "It just frightened me, that's all," she admitted, looking at the floor.

"Aye, and it still frightens me," Peter said earnestly, moving closer as the other men discretely made their exit, closing the door to her flat behind them.  He turned to her fully and stepped closer, the weight of his hands warm and comforting on her shoulders.  "There's more ye don't know yet, Donna, but it’s no that I’m hidin’ anythin’ from ye.  I'll show ye everythin', I promise.  The pictures, the records, all other the information; everythin’ we know and all we suspect."  Donna bit her lip, uncertain why she was hesitating.  He was offering everything she'd demanded the previous day and more, but she still ached inside.

Peter reached out and caressed her cheek gingerly before taking a deep breath and continuing.  "But in the here and now, ye haven't eaten and neither have Ian and I," he started and saw the dismay flash across her face.  He was putting her off again, Donna thought, and it was more than she could bear.

"Copper," she growled, jerking back as her temper threatened to flare, but Peter recognized the danger signs.  He let all his pretenses drop, and finally, thankfully, their responses to each other synced.

"Please, Donna," he pleaded softly, stepping closer but not touching her, "over lunch, Ian and I can share what we've found with ye. It'll be just the three of us, yeah?  And after, if ye willnae stay with me, then let me put ye in a hotel with an officer outside yer door.  I willnae be able to sleep if ye donae."

She inhaled in surprise at the naked sincerity of his admission and turned her face up to him as her anger fell away.  Sensing the shift in her mood, Peter decided to press his advantage.  "Please?  For me?" he breathed as he lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips.  Donna blinked before nodding her agreement and Peter smiled and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair.  After a moment, he released her and stepped back awkwardly.  "Go on, then.  Pack yer bag,” he said with a nervous wave of his hand.  “I'll go out and wrap things up with Alec while ye do. Then ye and Ian and I can talk over lunch.”

 

***********

Back at Turnham Green’s with their orders placed, Ian leaned back against the wall, retrieved his laptop from his bag and powered it up.  After typing in his password, Ian pushed the computer over to Peter as his partner pulled his flash drive from his pocket.  Donna approached the table, glancing between them both before stepping around Peter’s feet to take the seat next to Ian, but not before she caught the flash of disappointment cross Peter’s face.  She averted her eyes quickly, watching his hands and her brow creased in puzzlement as he flicked the switch and disabled the wireless connection before inserting his flash drive into the USB port. 

“Cannae be too cautious,” he said quietly in response to her unvoiced questions.  “It’ll all make sense before we’re done.”  Donna looked to Ian quizzically who simply nodded his agreement.  She pursed her lips for a moment and crossed her arms, waiting for Peter to continue.

Peter folded his hands before him and looked up through his fringe, carefully considering his words before speaking.  “Donna, what I’m about to tell ye; I donae think any of this is a coincidence,” Peter explained slowly.  “I've been puttin’ this talk off, waitin’ until we had more information and a clearer picture of yer past, but now I think I should have shared this with ye as soon as we found it.”  He clicked on the screen a few times, then angled the laptop so that both Donna and Ian could see one of the images backed up on his flash drive.  “Do ye know this man?” he asked her, pointing to the screen and taking refuge in his professional personae.

“That’s him!” Donna cried immediately.  “That’s Doctor Smith!”  In her excitement, she nudged Ian’s arm none too gently, saying, “You see why but for the mad hair and the tight suit I thought Peter was him?”  Peter’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as Ian rolled back into place with an amused smirk, and Donna cocked her head and fixed the man beside her with a baleful eye.   “Oi!” she shot at him, “Tell me I’m wrong!”  Ian looked at the screen again as he considered her comparison, but in the interest of maintaining a harmonious working relationship with his partner, he stayed silent on the matter.

Peter turned the computer back to face him and clicked on the screen again and another image popped up on top of the previous one.  “Do ye recognize this?” he asked as he swiveled it back around for her to see.

Donna’s eyes grew wide as she looked at the picture before her.  “Yes!” she exclaimed, jabbing at the screen as a few heads turned their way.  “That was taken on the street outside H.C. Clements, my old job!”  Ian wisely shifted in his seat until he was just out of her reach as Donna leaned closer to the computer.  “So, do I know him from there?” she asked Peter excitedly as she studied Doctor Smith’s image on the screen.

Peter shot a look at Ian before he replied.  “I donae think so,” he said quietly, reaching around the computer awkwardly to select the next photo.  The image appeared, revealing Donna in a wedding dress, standing beside his double in front of a lift with another man.

Donna’s hand darted out to his as she started in shock.  “That’s Lance,” she breathed, looking up at Peter in disbelief.  “How did you … ?  Where did this … ?” she began before shaking her head and staring again at the screen.  Beside her, Ian slipped out of his seat on the bench beside Donna unnoticed and took the chair next to Peter.

“Do ye remember this?” Peter asked, his voice just above a whisper as he watched her reaction.  He leaned around the screen to click on the next photo in the folder.  The display changed to show a distant image of what had to be Donna and Doctor Smith standing atop the Thames flood barrier, Donna leaning forward slightly as Doctor Smith’s hands steadied her at the waist.

Donna shook her head.  “No,” she admitted, becoming subdued.  “I don’t.”  She roused herself and looked at Peter and Ian in turn.  “And just what the bloody hell was I doin’ in the middle of the Thames in my weddin' dress!” she demanded, leaning closer to the screen.  Ian kicked Peter’s foot under the table and rolled his eyes in exasperation when his brilliant partner merely cocked an eyebrow at him.  While Donna’s attention was still focused on the computer, Ian’s eyes darted meaningfully between Peter and the empty space beside her on the bench that ran the length of the wall.  Peter hesitated for the length of a heartbeat before shifting around to sit beside her as Donna scooted unthinkingly into the spot Ian had previously occupied.

“What about this?” he asked, settling in beside her and clicking again as images taken from Adipose Industries’ security cameras flashed across the screen of a confident Donna walking along anonymous hallways.  Donna sat speechless, shaking her head and biting her thumb as the cursor hovered over the next thumbnail.  “Or this?”  he murmured to her as the picture popped open, showing her running with her hair streaming madly behind as she followed Doctor Smith through utility tunnels in what appeared to be the bowels of some unknown building.

Donna turned to him, her hand trembling slightly as she touched it to her lips.  “I don’t remember ever bein’ wherever these pictures were taken,” she confessed as she turned her attention back to the image on screen.  Peter shifted closer to her and reached for her free hand, grasping it lightly and Donna laced her fingers with his.  Peter moved the cursor and hovered over the last image in the folder, hesitating for for a brief second before he clicked away and opened a photograph from another folder.

Donna’s pleased expression appeared before them onscreen as, in the picture, she dangled an empty binder before a semi-circle of confused faces which included her mysterious Doctor Smith.  “Does any of this look at all familiar?” Peter asked and he wasn’t surprised when she shook her head as she studied the patches plainly visible on the uniforms of the men and women arrayed before her.

“Peter, if it weren’t for the fact that I remember buyin’ that,” she said, subdued and almost frightened as she gestured at a gray-blue jacket she wore in the image onscreen, “I’d say these pictures couldn’t be of me.  I don’t remember any of this and I haven’t seen that jacket in years.”  She turned to look him squarely in the face before she shook her head with a mystified frown.  “How is this even possible?  And where did all this come from?”  Donna queried.  She lifted her hands to her temples, massaging them briefly as she glanced back at the screen and muttered under her breath, “He looks so much like you.”

"Donna, I want you to remain calm.  Can you do that for me, please?” Peter asked gently.  She nodded and licked her bottom lip as she cast a pleading look at Ian.  He smiled reassuringly and Donna glanced down at her hand in Peter’s before she looked back at him.  “These pictures here,” he said as he rearranged the images on screen, “These I found in footage taken by CCTV and internal buildin’ security from two unsolved crime scenes."

Donna’ drew a startled breath as she processed his words.  "Oh, no," she cried in horror, covering her mouth with her hands. "I am a criminal."

“No, that’s no the conclusion we’ve come to, no in the least, eh, Ian?” Peter said reassuringly.  “Just let me finish, OK?”  Donna swallowed hard and inclined her head for a moment and Peter continued. 

“These, however,” he said, gesturing to the array of images on the second half of the screen, “these were obtained from a file we found on you through the Home Office.”  Donna’s head whipped up and she stared at him warily.  “A file in UNIT’s archives,” he revealed, watching her for any signs of recognition.

“UNIT?” Donna said incredulously, drawing circles in the air with one hand.  “Isn’t that some sort of specialized military group to deal with counter-terrorism or somethin’? ”

“Stands for UNified Intelligence Taskforce, actually,” Ian explained.  “It’s stated purpose is to investigate and combat paranormal and extraterrestrial threats to the Earth.  What exactly that means in practice, however, is anyone’s guess.”

“What?” Donna exclaimed loudly.  “Extraterrestrial?  Like ET or somethin’? Paranormal?  As in ghosts?”  She sat back against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, certain Ian was having her on.  “So Steven Spielberg’s the head of this group?” she spat.  “What am I doin’ in their archive?”

“Weeelllll,” Peter drawled, trying to give himself a moment to predict and prepare for her reaction, “accordin’ to this, ye were instrumental in savin’ the world.”  He clicked on the screen once more and brought up the image of the file Ian’s contact had provided, enlarging it to make the text legible.  He pushed the laptop closer for her to read and added, “From the way the assessment is phrased, I’m thinkin’ perhaps on more than one occasion.”

“You’re takin’ the mickey, the pair of you,” Donna scowled as she began to read but her expression changed the further along she got. She grew still, her face blank as her eyes scanned the document and as Peter debated the wisdom of reaching for her, her hand fumbled out towards him.  He took her hand again and wondered how far she’d gotten in her reading when suddenly, she sat up straighter, cocked her head to the side and with a wry twist to her lips said a single word.  “Obstreperous.”  Ian glanced away to hide his smile and Peter grinned despite himself.  “Is that it?” she said abruptly, looking up again at her DI, then his partner.  “It just stops, mid-sentence.  Is there another page?”

“Aye, there is, but we donae have access to it,” Peter said in a low voice.  “Let’s just say that what we do have wasnae obtained through strictly official channels and the likelihood of our bein‘ able to procure the entire document is so low as to be virtually nonexistent.”

She looked at him and Peter was dismayed to see disbelief cross her features before she smiled and shook her head.  She squeezed his hand gently and looked up at Ian.  “There he goes again: fifty words where five would do,” she said to him drily.   She sighed and turned her attention back to Peter.  “So, Policeman, what does it all mean?  I was this man’s assistant?  It doesn’t say what exactly his job or his qualifications were, but it’s obvious that he didn’t work for them in an official capacity.  And how does someone become a consultant to a group dealin’ with paranormal and extraterrestrial threats to the Earth anyway?”

“That’s the conundrum we’re dealing with now, Ms. Noble.  The more we find, the more questions rise to the surface.  And this isn’t ringing any bells for you?” Ian asked, indicating his laptop with a nod.

“No,” she admitted reluctantly and she was surprised when Peter and Ian shared a significant look.  Peter nodded his head, mouth open slightly as his tongue swept across his teeth and Ian leaned back in his chair with a knowing expression. “What?” she said, watching their silent exchange.  “What is it?”

Peter leaned forward and looked directly into her eyes.  “This,” he said with a wave of his hand, “this and yer reactions taken together…. Donna, we searched, and you donae have any records anywhere for the time you were missin’, no even with the military or MI5.”  He gave her a moment to digest his words before continuing.  “But this picture,” he said, gesturing at the screen, “back to this Unified Intelligence Taskforce.  They didnae know you, but they did know your Doctor Smith.  Apparently he’s worked for them before, along with other people in his employ.  People whose experiences with him made them valuable assets, so much so that they bothered to do an assessment on ye for future reference, which leads me to believe that this is standard practice for them.”

Donna listened intently and Peter paused, letting the implications of his statement filter down and settle in her mind.   She leaned against the table and when she looked at him curiously, he resumed his explanation.  “And there are rumors out there of another organization, a truly secret government agency and the little we've heard of their practices tally exactly with what ye've experienced.  Missing time, memory loss, a complete and total absence in the records…”

Donna’s mouth dropped open and she drew back a bit, her eyebrows raised.   “What, you two think I had a dust-up with James Bond?” she exclaimed and at that, Ian couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter.

“No, Donna, no MI6,” Peter clarified.  “This secret agency is actually above top-secret, so much so that even its name is only ever dared to be whispered.  Ye donae want their attention.” 

“Whose attention?” she persisted.

“Torchwood,” Ian whispered, leaning over the table.  “Rumor in the law enforcement community has it that if you run afoul of them, they make sure you'll never, ever be able to talk about it.  The theory is that they have a way of erasing every trace of an encounter with them; memories as easily as physical evidence and no one has ever been able to lay a finger on them,” Ian said, stabbing the table with a finger in emphasis.  “Ever.” 

Donna looked between them both skeptically, indicating each with a wave of her finger.  “And you two think … ? 

“Donna, we donae know what to think,” Peter admitted, “but yer symptoms, they fit a pattern we’ve heard of.  We dinnae know what ye were involved with, with yer Doctor Smith, but whatever it was, it looks as though it was very important and, as a result of it, ye're a victim of whatever it is Torchwood does to cover their tracks.”

Donna sat in silence for a long moment, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her eyes focused on the middle distance as she considered all she’d been told.  Finally she turned back to Peter and slowly said, “You’re not being economical with the truth here, are you, Peter?”  She turned to him fully, searching his face for confirmation.

“No.  We’re tellin’ ye all we know and everythin’ we think.  I promise,” he said sincerely, laying a hand on her arm.  “Ye do believe me?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.  “It’s just a lot to process.”

He nodded his head in understanding and looked across at his partner as he added, “But I do have one more image I’d like to show ye.”

“All right,” she agreed as Peter clicked on the most recent folder on his flash drive.  Before he could even frame a question, she sat back with a squeak of surprise as the picture appeared before her.

“Oh. My. God,” she breathed, turning to Peter instantly. “I know that jacket and those shoes,” she said pointing at the screen.  “That's the drunken giraffe from the train. The one who was literally falling all over me about three weeks ago."

“What?” Ian asked, confused by her imagery and not following at all.

“There was this man, beside me on the train a few weeks back, and it was like he couldn’t stand up properly.  Every time we hit a bump, he managed to use me to keep himself upright,” she explained.  “At first, I thought he was tryin’ to get fresh, but when I turned to tell him off, the look on his face broke my heart.  He was so awkward and so miserable, I just couldn’t.”

“And you remember his clothing well enough to identify him, even though you cannae see his face in this picture?” Peter demanded.

“Well, look at him,” Donna said, waving at the screen, taken a bit aback at his intensity.  “He was maybe thirty but he dressed like someone my granddad’s age, or maybe a college professor.”

“Would ye be able to describe him for a sketch artist?” he continued.

“I guess,” Donna replied warily.

“Did he stay on the train after you’d left or did he get off before?” Ian interjected.

“Uhm, he got off one stop before mine, at Ravenscourt Park,” she answered, mystified at their reactions.  “Why?  Who is he?  What’s he done?  Where did this picture come from?”

“ **That** ,” Peter said forcefully, glancing at Ian, his eyes dancing with triumph, “that was taken from the surveillance cameras inside the Met.  Yesterday.  He broke in somehow and managed to evade the detection of the entire Metropolitan Police Service as he waltzed around the building, doin’ exactly as he pleased.  He was there, in the building, at the same time ye were.  Not only that,” he continued, leaning forward for emphasis, “I have reason to believe that this man stole the originals of the files ye’ve been looking at from my office yesterday.  He doesnae want yer past to come to light for some reason.”

“But he looked harmless!” Donna protested.

“Ye know appearances can be deceivin’,” Peter replied evenly.  “And we think this was the man in your flat earlier today.”

“No. Way,” she said emphatically.  “How on earth could that clumsy fool hide in plain sight?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” added Ian.  “Probably the same way he was able to walk around the MET without being seen.  We think it has something to do with the device in his hand.” 

“What?  Like Harry Potter and his invisibility thingy?” she asked dubiously.

“More like Arthur C. Clark,” Ian clarified.  “ You know, ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’ “ he quoted. 

“You want to watch out, there, Ian,” Donna replied.  “Your Geek is showin’,” she added with a smile as Kent waved at her from the counter.  She punched Ian on the shoulder as she stood.  “Come on, DS, make yourself useful.  Lunch is ready.  Come help me get it as that one clears the table,” she added with a stab of her thumb in Peter’s direction.

“As you wish,” Ian replied, rising from the table and Donna smiled wickedly. 

“Oooh, think you could teach that line to him?” she teased as they walked together to pick up the trays.

Peter watched them go, smiling at the easy conversation about nothing flowing between his partner and his lover.  He knew there would be more discussion about their findings later, after Donna had had time to think about all they’d revealed, but he’d worry about that then.  He reached over to eject his flash drive, pausing for a moment before he did.  He slipped the drive back into his pocket, powered the laptop down and stood, trading it for the tray that Ian carried as he came back to the table.  Peter unloaded the tray as Donna did the same, and he took her tray along with his back to the counter.

“Ice cream?” Ian said, puzzled, glancing at the table as he stowed his bag beneath his chair.  “We didn’t order any ice cream, did we?”  Peter heard Donna laugh and as he turned back to see her, he thought of the last image on his flash drive, the only one he didn’t open for her to see.  He hadn’t even shared that photo with Ian, the one of Donna and Doctor Smith, alone and embracing with obvious delight on a staircase at Adipose Industries, and he knew with certainty that he wasn’t about to.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter unlocked his door, stepping back to hold it open for Donna and she stood on the doorstep as though awaiting permission to enter. He looked at her questioningly as she hesitated and he realized it was the first time they'd truly been alone together all day.

**Wednesday, 13 June, 2012 8:20 PM**  
  
Peter unlocked his door, stepping back to hold it open for Donna and she stood on the doorstep as though awaiting permission to enter. He looked at her questioningly as she hesitated and he realized it was the first time they'd truly been alone together all day.  After their late lunch, Peter had stepped outside Turnham Green with Ian and Donna rang her architect. While she waited, she'd watched their exchange through the window, smiling when Ian briefly laid a hand on Peter's shoulder and he'd responded with a grateful nod.  With their short discussion concluded, Ian had looked up and graced Donna with a brief wave as Peter rejoined her at the table.  He'd sat quietly, listening to her conversation, grimly nodding his approval as she made arrangements to incorporate a security upgrade into the plans for her flat and the unfinished second floor.  She'd looked up in distress when Phil told her that everything would be ordered the next day to get started on Friday but the earliest they could possible be done would be Wednesday next, but Peter had reached for her hand and smiled reassuringly.   With the arrangements finalized, they'd gone out for a few things Donna had forgotten in her rush to leave, picked up Peter’s dry cleaning, stopped by the bookstore and done a spot of grocery shopping in what Peter and Donna both recognized as stalling techniques.  Now they stood together on the threshold, both nervous and uncertain as to how to proceed.  
  
Peter made the first move before Donna could change her mind and bolt for the lift.  "Are ye hungry?  Can I … can I get ye somethin’?" he stammered as he ushered her in with a gentle hand at the small of her back, hating the awkwardness between them.

“No,” she replied automatically, stepping into the kitchen to deposit the shopping on the counter.  She looked down at the bag, ruefully recalling another shopping trip before tossing her hair back and exclaiming brightly,  "No, thank you.  I’m good.”  No one else would have noticed, but Peter heard the false note and felt the invisible barrier crackle and shimmer between them, just enough to prevent him reaching for her, almost as if Donna were wrapped in cellophane.  
  
Peter desperately wanted to peel away the layer separating them and take her into his arms, but instead he offered, "Somethin’ to drink then?”  She shook her head and looked down as he pursed his lips and nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. _I could do with a glass of something myself to take the edge off_ , he thought bemusedly, then stopped short. _Since when was there an edge to remove around Donna?_  Her next words brought him back from his thoughts to the here and now.  
  
"Really, Pol… Peter, I’m fine, really.  I’m just worn out is all.  It’s been a long day and it’s getting late," she lied.  "I think I’ll just shower, then read for a bit, before I go to sleep," she continued, lifting her recent purchase for his approval.  
  
" _Death in the Clouds_ ," he said, smiling faintly.  "Ye'll have to loan it to me when yer done.  I've no read that one.”  They stood awkwardly in his kitchen, neither knowing what to do next.  The silence between them deepened and expanded, threatening to become a chasm before Peter finally spoke.  
  
"Well then," he announced, inhaling sharply, “we should get ready … to, uhm, to turn in for the night."  Rubbing the back of his neck, he offered her a brave smile.  "I'll just put yer bag in the bedroom and sort the shoppin' while ye shower.  All right?”  
  
“You … you don't have to take my things. That’s not necessary," she demurred, shifting from one foot to the other.  "I’ll do it, thank you.”  She reached for her bag as he held it out for her and his heart dropped when she took it, deliberately avoiding his touch.  She backed away two careful steps, watching him all the while before turning and retreating to his bedroom. Was she afraid he’d follow her, unwanted and uninvited?  As she closed the door, Peter held his breath and strained to listen, grateful for the silence that followed: at least she hadn’t felt it necessary to lock the door against him.  
  
Donna gathered her necessities quickly and stood, lost, in the middle of Peter's bedroom.  This entire debacle was all her fault, she knew, from beginning to end, and still she couldn’t work out what she should do to make it better.  He had let her back into his life, true, but she was uncomfortable there: his trust was unwarranted and soon, she was certain, he would find her just as unworthy of his time and attention as did she. She fought back tears of frustration and squared her shoulders, determined at least not to break down in front of him.  She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow and become even as she switched to brisk, efficient and practical mode. She stalked over to the door and wrenched it open a bit harder than she intended and was startled by Peter’s reaction.  It was almost as if he’d been waiting for her to reemerge, taking her reappearance as his cue to duck back into the kitchen and look industrious and she faltered in her progress a half-step before recovering her momentum.  
  
As she passed close by, Donna had to close her eyes and look away: the urge to reach out for him was almost overwhelming, the need just to touch his hand.  Her heart was pounding in her ears and she was caught, trapped in the moment by her own indecision. They had never been this awkward and tentative together, not even when they’d just met, and she didn’t see any way around it, the both of them so unsure and vulnerable, so she fell back on the tried and true and pretended there was nothing wrong.  It almost worked.  
  
“Let me know if ye need anythin’ ye dinnae see,” Peter said quietly without turning, proof that he was as aware of her as she was of him.  He held himself so still, his motions slow and deliberate as if afraid a sudden movement from him would spook her.  She briefly considered telling him it was someone, not something, she desperately needed before deciding that might not be her wisest course of action.  She took the coward’s way instead and answered, “I will,” relieved that at least her voice sounded normal in her ears, even if nothing else was.  
  
Peter's shoulders slumped as Donna fled to the shower and he stood in the kitchen with just a door and a few scant meters separating them, but they might just as well have been a million miles apart.  He busied himself putting away the groceries, but he was distracted as the sounds from the adjacent room provided fuel for his imagination.  The detective in him cataloged every detail, building the scene in his mind as he heard her moving around, getting ready to shower.  He stilled as a momentary silence told him she was removing her clothing and his breathing quickened as he heard the water begin to flow, right along with memories of fantasies from the night before.  He closed his eyes, imagining the water cascading down her back, caressing her curves, clinging to her bare skin and he wanted nothing more than to step into the steamy confines of his bath, gather her up and kiss her.  Behind closed eyes, he could see the water course down over her head and shoulders, making her hair cling to her, interesting tendrils coiling and curling across her chest and back and he braced himself against the counter as his breathing grew uneven.  When the water suddenly shut off, he quickly resumed his task, aiming for nonchalant but missing the mark and acting wary instead.  
  
"Peter?"  
  
His head whipped around at the tremulous sound of her voice.  She peeked around the door to his bath, biting her lip anxiously and he was ashamed of his body's reaction, but he couldn’t help it.  She looked just as he'd seen her the night before in his waking dreams, her hair dark and moulded to her neck, the steam from the bath leaving the skin of her bare shoulder slick and shimmering.  
  
"Yes, love?” he replied automatically.  
  
“Do me a favor, please? I left my robe,” she asked, gesturing awkwardly towards his room.  
  
"Of course," he replied, "I'll get it.  Where is it?"  
  
"Just there, in the top of my overnight bag,” she said, still hiding behind the door.  
  
“OK, back in a tick,’ he told her before returning shortly, extending the robe to her as he averted his eyes.  
  
“Thank you,” Donna whispered, plucking it from his grasp before disappearing back into the bathroom.  She emerged a few minutes later, her robe wrapped so as to provide maximum coverage, her undergarments securely hidden inside her worn clothes, all tucked away from view under one arm. She walked past him and got halfway back to his bedroom before her step faltered.  Donna had been so rattled by the day's events, she hadn't thought this far in advance.  She hadn’t been foolish enough to expect that everything would return to normal between them, as though nothing had happened, but the idea that their sleeping arrangements might need alteration hadn't occurred to her until just then. She paused, looking around the living room before disappearing back into his room. Peter watched her go, exhaling quietly in relief when she returned to the bedroom. He started to follow the faint impressions of her damp footprints across the carpet of the living room and he was dismayed when she emerged again with her bag, her eyes resolutely downcast.  He gaped at her for a moment before he swallowed hard and rubbed the bridge of his nose. _Some brilliant detective I am_ , he thought bitterly, _did I really expect her to just fall back into my arms and my bed with me?_  He watched her for a moment that stretched into eternity before her quiet determination galvanized him into action.  
  
"Ye take the bed. I'll sleep out here," he said tersely as he strode purposely to his room.  Donna glanced up, prepared to protest but instead, she wrapped her robe more securely around herself.  She nodded and turned, biting her lip as she walked slowly behind him and stood at the door while Peter opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a vest.  She slipped into the room behind him as he began to leave and resting his hand on the doorknob, he nodded his goodnight.  “Uhm, let me know … if ye want anythin’,“ he said, remembering belatedly that he was repeating himself as he closed the door behind him.  
  
Donna knew there was nothing for it but to agree.  It didn't seem right, her evicting him from his own bed, but she knew him well enough not to bother arguing. It was nothing to do with her: it was a matter of simple courtesy and chivalry. Peter Carlisle would never allow a member of what he considered to be the fairer sex to sleep on his couch while he occupied his bed.  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, wavering in place, dreading spending the night again in yet another too-big bed, wrapped in blankets instead of his arms, unable to find rest on a pillow that smelled faintly of her Policeman.  
  
Idly wondering if she could still call him that, she exhaled loudly, ruffling her fringe and dropping her bag to the floor with a dull thud as she pulled on her pajamas and started buttoning them up.   _I must have known, somehow, that things would be different_ , she thought, resting her chin on the hand fisted into the front collar of her top.  How else to explain her choice of sleepwear?   Her heavy sigh turned into a gasp of surprise as long, gentle fingers lifted her hair, freeing it from inside her pajama jacket and a chill ran up her spine.  She whirled around, startled, and Peter took a prudent step back from her, just out of reach.  
  
“Donna, I’m sorry, I dinnae't mean to ... I just heard ... and I thought ye heard me ... I just came in to get another blanket,” he stammered nervously, indicating the wardrobe behind him with a jerk of his thumb as she struggled to bring her respiration rate back to something approaching normal.   He took another step back before turning and opening the wardrobe door and pulling a blanket down from the shelf.   He swallowed hard, his features carefully composed and said "Goodnight, then,” backing away towards the door.  
  
As he turned to leave, Donna’s heart sank and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Don’t. Peter, please, don't go.  Oh, Policeman, I ... I don't want you to go.”  What she really wanted was to fling herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness, but she couldn't bear the thought that he might not want that. Instead she stood impossibly still, willing him to read her mind, to know exactly what she wanted and respond.  Peter's heart skipped a beat at the pleading note in her voice, and he realized with a shock that she was afraid he might refuse her request. He set the blanket back on the shelf and took a step towards her, even as she looked down at her feet and dug her toes into the carpet.  He moved before her, putting a hand on her waist as he gingerly raised her chin so that she could see his eyes. She was fighting to keep her expression neutral but he could see the faint shimmer of tears forming there.  
  
"Donna, the last thing on earth I ever want is to be apart from ye. Last night was one of the most miserable nights of my life,”  he said soberly.  He stroked her hair and Donna closed her eyes as a tear streaked down her cheek. Peter wiped it away with his thumb and whispered, "Hey, no... we'll no be havin' any of that tonight. Everythin' is fine, now.  It was a misunderstandin’, that’s all, and it's behind us."  
  
"Peter, I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry," she began, wrapping her arms around him and hiding her face in his chest, but she felt him shake his head.  
  
"No, Donna.  None of that, either, no now.  Later we'll talk, eh?" Peter promised with a tiny catch in his voice.  She pulled back, intending to kiss him and she was nearly undone by the broken look on his face.  She could see a faint telltale tinge around his eyes and she felt his hand tremble slightly as he lifted her hair back and away from her face.  "Oh, how I missed ye," he confessed, tangling a hand in her hair to draw her mouth to his in a sweet, gentle kiss. Her sharp intake of breath at his naked admission was quickly followed by a moan of mingled relief and regret as she melted against him.  
  
Peter pulled her closer, even as she stepped back towards his bed. His lips chased hers, deepening the kiss and she dug her hands into his hair to urge him nearer, at once calmed by the reassuring solidity of the man in her arms and inflamed by the tender caress of his hands. He laid her back across his bed, slipping into place by her side as he searched her eyes and toyed with the buttons on her pajama top. He didn't slip them free until her hand tugged on the drawstring of his sweat pants, loosening the knot at his waist.  Donna groaned slightly as they slipped off his slim hips and she pushed his pants down as far as she could before he pulled back and kicked them free.  He settled back into place beside her and she rolled to meet him, realizing just how much she’d missed the warmth of his body against hers and the comfort of his embrace.  
  
He was a treat for all the senses, but especially a visual one, she decided as he rose up, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor. She admired the long, lean muscle of his torso and bit her lip as he reached over her to push away the blanket that had bunched up and made an uncomfortable lump beneath her head.  Peter caught her staring and favored her with a slow, sensual smile, his eyes dark and hungry as he took hold of her waistband and eased her pajama bottoms down, freeing her legs.  He hooked a finger into each side of her strangely-enticing white cotton knickers and slid them off, playing his hands along her legs as he went, bending down to leave a trail of tiny kisses across her hip.  Once her clothes joined his in a pile on the floor, he settled back, kneeling between her knees, smiling down and marveling at the difference an hour made as the mad, frustrating dance they’d been engaged in all day became a mad dance of an entirely different sort.  
  
“DI Carlisle,” Donna said formally as Peter quirked an eyebrow at her.  “I’m not entirely certain what you have planned for this evenings’ entertainment, sir, but what I have in mind requires you to be considerably closer than your current position.”  She offered him a shy smile that turned sly as he laughed aloud.  
  
"What was that you were sayin' earlier about me and my ten-to-one word ratio?” he teased, watching as her eyes danced over him and she brought her foot up to slide along his calf.  
  
“Weeellll,” she drawled, tugging at her ear in imitation, delighted at the grin she received in response.  "I just thought maybe you’d respond better to that rather than ‘Get your gorgeous arse over here right now’,” she admitted and the laughter on his lips dwindled away as he leaned down to kiss her.  
  
“Donna, consider me at your beck and call,” he replied, ending on a groan as she reached up to pull him to her.  She let her legs fall open and wrapped herself around him as he slid home, embracing him from within as well as from without.  They lay still for a moment, entangled together as Peter pushed himself up to look in her eyes, resting on his elbows and brushing her hair back from her forehead.  At some unspoken agreement, they began to move together as if underwater, their motions slow and languid and there was no rushing, no urgency, no frenzy; instead, they slowly savored what they had each feared forever lost.  
  
Still gazing into her eyes, Peter began to move within her in endless unhurried strokes and Donna whimpered, throwing her head back, pressing herself up into him and exposing her neck to his lips. She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, guiding his mouth back to hers and together they found a slow rhythm of firm thrusts, long, languid kisses and gentle sighs, the two of them a slowly-moving tableau of warm caresses and whispered promises.  
  
Peter’s breathing became increasingly ragged as he rolled his hips into Donna again and again, the pleasure within him building and surging, but he bit his lip and kept his pace, determined to wait for her.  He knew she was close when Donna’s nails bit into his back, suddenly and briefly, and she closed her eyes and shuddered, taking him with her as she sank into bliss.  Gentle at first, her climax grew in intensity, going on and on as the echoes of pleasure rebounded within her, and as the ecstasy faded, she opened her eyes to gaze at the face of the man above her.  Peter leaned on one elbow, stroking her hair as she framed his face between her palms, gently tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs.  Looking into his eyes, for the first time in her life, Donna understood the fine distinction between having sex and making love.  She saw that he'd been just as lost without her as she’d felt without him, and as he settled down to embrace her fully, her eyes prickled at the tender words he murmured into her hair.  
  
It was a homecoming for them both and Donna's last scrap of indecision and insecurity fell away as the spark of hope she'd been so carefully tending in her heart flared brightly: he was hers and she was his.  This thing between them, this feeling?  It was real and not some lovely little fantasy.  She'd finally found the one she'd been searching for all her life; they were truly together and she knew he loved her as much, and as fiercely, as she loved him.  
  
"You love me," she breathed into his ear, clutching him closer and Peter smiled at her characteristically-odd phrasing, remembering the first time they’d met.  
  
"Aye," he replied, kissing the shell of her ear. "Did ye ever doubt that?"  
  
"Not that you loved me, no," she whispered, not daring to look at him then.  "But just how much?  That was my question,” she admitted.  “Now I know."  
  
"Are we talkin' quantitative or qualitative measurement here?" he teased gently, rolling his upper body off her, bracing himself again on his elbow and toying with her hair.  
  
"Both, you prawn,” she replied with a gentle smack to his shoulder.  She smiled up at him in wonder before admitting "I think you just might love me almost as much as I love you."  
  
"More than that," he told her with a lopsided grin. “ ‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite’ ,” he quoted.  She grinned before biting her lip, searching her memory for the source of his words and he brushed the pad of his thumb against her lip to draw her attention back to him. “Here, let me show ye again."

 

**********

**Wednesday, 13 June, 2012 11:15 PM**  
  
"Tea. Ye took on a potential murderer armed with nothin' more than a hot cup of Earl Grey."  Peter tried to look stern, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards of their own accord. He hugged her to him tightly for a moment before relaxing again and finger-combing her unruly curls away from her eyes.  
  
"English Breakfast Tea, actually, sort of a builder's cup,” Donna clarified as she turned in his embrace and stretched luxuriously.  “More caffeine. I find I need it since I took up with the likes of you."  She rolled back into his arms and yawned, unimpressed by his sour expression.  Peter fought to stifle a giggle but when he looked down at her, it exploded from him and ended up as a guffaw.  
  
"Oi, Policeman!" Donna exclaimed indignantly, slapping him soundly on the shoulder.   "Tea's the best stuff in the universe, and don't you dare doubt it!  Superheated infusion of free radicals and tannin-just the thing for healin' the synapses!”  She blinked and gently shook her head before continuing.  “When I used to get those horrible headaches all the time, a good strong cuppa was the only thing that made me better.”  She gazed fondly into the eyes of her once-again lover and kissed him gently.  “Now I can add stealth weapon to the list of things tea's good for."  
  
“Welllll,” he drawled, nodding his agreement and scratching absently at the day’s growth on his chin, “that’s certainly more than can be said of most items available at breakfast.  Unless ye count my mam’s tattie scone,” he said with a shudder of disgust.  “And,” he continued, smiling broadly as he wound her up, "when ye needed to gain Bence’s trust and slow him down, it didnae escape my notice that ye condescended to share my pastry of choice with the boy and no Ian’s.”  He affected an air of mock outrage and Donna smacked his shoulder again.  
  
“Copper, you are nothin’ short of spoiled beyond belief!” she cried.  “I shared your sticky bun with him because, knowin’ you,” she jabbed him abruptly in the chest then kissed the tip of his nose to soften the blow, “knowin’ you, I bought you two and I’d only got the one croissant for Ian.  No playin’ the victim this time for you!”  
  
“If I’m spoilt, Ms. Noble,” he smirked, twirling a copper curl around his finger, “it’s entirely yer fault.  Ian never gets me two of anythin’ and, when he does bring me somethin’, it’s always whole grain and low sugar.”  Peter grinned as he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it reverently, glad that they could slip back into their usual banter so easily.  Lately, they had fallen into the habit of meeting for dinner and returning to whichever flat was closest for the night and consequently, the previous two nights had been the first they’d spent apart in almost two weeks.  As she cupped his cheek and moved closer to kiss his lips, he wondered if she’d found it as difficult to sleep without him as he had found it without her.  He decided not to ask, preferring to dwell in the moment instead of rehashing the events of the previous two days.  Donna, however, had different ideas.  
  
Leaning her forehead against his, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Peter, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”  She kissed him almost desperately and caressed his face with the back of her hand before tracing the seam of his lips with a fingertip.  “I'm sorry for the way I acted and for embarrassin' you where you work. That was unforgivable. And I'm sorriest for the things I said. I didn't mean any of it.”  Peter opened his mouth to respond, but she laid a restraining finger on his lips and shook her head once.  
  
“But there’s one thing I need to make perfectly clear: I'm not apologizin' for talkin' to Bence. That boy was so scared, I could feel it.”  
  
“Donna,” Peter began to reply, but he was silenced by her look.  
  
“Let me finish, Copper,” she warned before continuing.  “And I did think about what I was doin' before I spoke to him.”  Peter raised an eyebrow at that, earning himself a stinging slap on the shoulder.  
  
“I did!  Think about it: why sit in the window like that, right across from the Met unless he wanted to be caught?  Hmmm?” she asked, sitting up and pulling the sheets up around her.  She prodded Peter’s ribs gently as she continued.  “And he was slouched over wearin' a hoodie, yeah?  He didn't have anywhere to hide a stiletto, not one he could pull quickly, at any rate. We were in a very public place and I knew you'd be there in no time, so the risk I took was tiny, really,” she finished reasonably with a slight shrug, examining her nails.  
  
Peter sat up and placed a hand on her knee.  “I apologize, Donna, for the way I reacted,” he said, his voice low but firm, “but no for how I felt at the time and no for how I still feel. I'll no have ye putting' yerself needlessly in harm's way, certainly no for me and my closure rate.”  Donna looked up at him abruptly, and it was his turn to lay a restraining finger on her lips.  “In this life, all it takes is one tiny miscalculation, one slip-up:  we donae get a second chance where death is concerned.” For the barest flicker of time, she had to wrestle with the urge to laugh.  Somehow, for some reason, that just sounded odd coming from him.  
  
She kissed his finger before shaking her head gently.  “You didn't see his eyes, Peter. I wasn't afraid of him.  But you?” she breathed, her own eyes growing wide as she pulled back.  “You were so different, you were like a stranger and I didn't know what to do. For just a moment, I didn’t know who you were.  You frightened me, Peter, more than Bence ever could.  You frightened me to death, and ... when I get frightened, I get angry.”  
  
“Another trait we share,” he responded immediately and Donna nodded her understanding.  He waited a moment before confessing, “Bence asked after ye this mornin’. I told him ye were under the weather but I'd let ye know.”  
  
“I’ll go see him tomorrow, while you’re at work.  Maybe after I can have lunch with you?”  she offered hopefully.  “Ian, too, my treat?”  
  
“I donae think so,” Peter said with obvious reluctance.  “Ian and I had planned to follow up on a lead by goin’ out to Immingham in the mornin’. It looks promisin'. Bence said this man, Tippet, he comes from there and he's lookin' to expand his business,  to set up a drug distribution network in London in advance of the Olympics.  He hit upon the idea of usin’ spray artists and others who knew the ins and outs of the streets but would be able to move among the tourists without attractin’ attention as bein’ out of place. He's no terribly smart, but he's vicious, so he intimidates smart people into doin' his biddin'.”    
  
“Typical,” Donna sighed.  “Is that how Morgan ended up dead, then?”  
  
“Bence said Morgan was cuttin’ through the alley- must have been on his way home- and he saw Tippet pull his blade.  Morgan must have seen a kid not much older than his students bein’ threatened and stepped in to help,  gettin' himself killed in the process,” Peter explained as he opened his arms in invitation.  Donna settled in and listened, her hand resting on his chest as Peter absently stroked her hair.  “Tippet didn’t even give him a chance to speak, never even considered runnin’, according to Bence.  He just stood and waited until Morgan drew close enough to strike and the next thing Bence knew, Morgan was laid out on the pavement before him.  If he werenae dead already, Tippet beat him to death for show, then stood and slashed at Bence’s ribs, just enough to draw blood.  He told Bence he’d be back for him later, that he’d find him and do worse if the boy told anyone what had happened.  Then Tippet wiped his blade clean on the hem of Bence’s hoodie.”  He sniffed loudly and closed his eyes against the images from his nightmares, scenes of the woman in his arms lying dead at his feet.  He shook his head to return to reality and admitted, “I’m no surprised he was afraid to come in after that.”  
  
“I’m glad you’re closing in on him.  That man belongs behind bars and I know you’ll put him there before he can hurt anyone else,” Donna said vehemently before a tiny frown crossed her face.  “But Immingham?  That’s over three hours away…,” she said thoughtfully.  “Will you be back in time for dinner tomorrow, or should I change the date with my mum?”  
  
“Nah, we’re meetin’ yer mum and grandda for dinner at half past seven, right?” Peter asked.  “We’ll be back and I’ll be ready to go,” he said before kissing her again.  Donna smiled at him, then looked away, biting her lip as she let her hand rest on his chest.  
  
“I'm so sorry I got gobby with Ian yesterday,” she whispered.  “and I’m still sorry how I acted around your coworkers this mornin’ as well.  They came out to my flat and I….”  
  
“Ye have nothin' to be sorry for as much as I do,” Peter said, cutting her off. “I’ve come to realize that, given our temperaments, at times, our life together may very well resemble a tale full of sound and fury,” he said quietly.  
  
“Which signifies nothin' ?” she asked in a quiet voice.  
  
“Nothin’ except that I love ye,” Peter said fondly as he kissed her forehead.  “But there’s more ye need to say to me, is there no?  What are ye still hidin’, and why?” he asked as he felt her grow still and small in his arms.  “Donna, ye can tell me anythin’, ye know that, right?”  He waited patiently, sure that she would respond in her own good time.  
  
“Peter, it’s true what you said earlier: I didn’t think how my actions might have affected you,” she said slowly, before looking up at him.  “I’m still not used to havin’ someone care about what I do.  But don’t you trust me?” she asked, searching his face for a clue.  
  
“Of course I trust ye, but no him!” Peter whispered with a catch in his voice.  “Ye dinnae see Morgan, lyin’ there in a pool of his own blood.”  He leaned back to look down his chest at her.  “It was just a theory that it wasnae Bence but someone else that gutted Morgan and left him to die. If I'd been wrong, if ye’d acted on faulty information from me and been hurt… “ he said before Donna reached up and silenced him with a kiss.  
  
“Well, I didn’t and you weren’t,” she said, but Peter’s eyes were still dark and unconvinced.  She scowled at him for a moment before she decided to play her trump card and force his hand.  
  
“I love you, Detective Dumbo,” she said as she slapped his chest without any real force, “and Bence wasn’t guilty, was he?”  
  
“Weeellll”, Peter replied, pulling at his ear and looking skyward, “while he has yet to be officially cleared of any wrongdoin', if I were to hazard a peek at his future, it would seem that we were both correct in assumin' his innocence in this matter.”  He looked down to see Donna staring up at him, dumbfounded.  
  
"All that," she marveled sitting back and bracing herself against his chest, "when all you had to do was say 'No', or even better, 'No, you were right, Donna..."  
  
She shrieked as Peter lunged at her, giggling madly as he pinned her back against the bed.  
  
"Peace!  I will stop your mouth," he muttered with a smile as he dipped his head towards her.  
  
"With a kiss?" she asked reflexively, then paused. "No, hold on, that bit's earlier on, right?"  He grinned wildly at her as she continued.  “I just finished reading _Much Ado_ the other day, but haven't reread it with the notes yet.”  Peter kissed her beneath her ear and as he slowly made his way to her mouth, Donna found it increasingly difficult to breathe properly.  “Though why any woman in her right mind … ,” she muttered, inhaling sharply as his fingers danced across her bare skin, “...would want to stop your mouth from this activity, I'll never know.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, THAT was a colossal waste of a day," Peter groused to his partner as they stepped onboard the train bound for London. "What the bloody HELL was so sensitive that couldnae be shared either over the phone or electronically?

**Thursday, 14 June, 2012 2:20 PM**

  
"Well, THAT was a colossal waste of a day," Peter groused to his partner as they stepped onboard the train bound for London. "What the bloody HELL was so sensitive that couldnae be shared either over the phone or electronically?  Let's see," he continued angrily, holding up his left hand, fingers splayed apart. "Was it one? That our suspect began his criminal career as a low-level enforcer for organized crime?"  He folded down his thumb and continued his diatribe as Ian glanced around.  He was relieved to find the compartment mostly empty, with only a young woman at the far end, wearing headphones and bobbing her head in time to a reggae beat so loud Ian could hear it from the other end of the car.   He rubbed his bleary eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before he returned his attention to his partner’s building rant.

  
"Or maybe two?” Peter continued sarcastically, folding down his pinky with a flourish while Ian merely raised an eyebrow. “That as muscle, his speciality was ensurin' members of the local drugs gangs stayed in line and their accounts with his bosses kept current?"  Peter was working himself up into a towering rage the likes of which Ian had never witnessed, and he sat back with a frown, arms crossed over his chest, to watch the remainder of the show.  

  
“Or could it possibly have been three?” Peter said mockingly, leaning forward to plant his elbow on his knee as the train began to move.  “When the local kingpin was put away, our man seized control of the drugs gangs and currently is endeavorin' to extend his sphere of influence into London?” This time, Peter flicked his ring finger before folding it down and Ian had to bite his cheek to keep his expression neutral as he had begun to suspect the sort of gesture on which Peter’s tantrum might end.

  
“No, no, I know!  It must be four!  The man is **dangerous** and a suspect in several brutal assaults and perhaps a few murders locally, attacks so vicious by design that he's managed to put the fear o’ God into the local populace to ensure no one will inform on him?  All of which could have easily been conveyed either by phone or email and saved us a pointless trip to a city completely devoid of culture, charm or, in point of fact, a competent law enforcement community!“  Peter snarled, folding down his index finger, leaving only his middle finger raised in obscene salute to the Immingham Police Service.  He flopped back into his seat, crossing his arms and glaring at Ian.  “Comments?" he muttered petulantly.

  
"On the situation or your recent performance?” Ian replied drily.  When Peter ignored the jibe, Ian added, “But I must admit, I was surprised as well.”

  
“I know!” Peter said abruptly, leaning forward and pointing at Ian, so wound up in his bad mood that his partner's sarcastic tone failed to register. “The boy in charge of the case, he’s awfully ambitious.  I reckon he intends to use the Tippett case to make a name for himself and get out of Immingham as soon as humanly possible.  Not that I blame him, mind…” Peter sniffed before turning to scowl at the urban landscape flying past the window.

  
“A valid observation, DI, but it’s not what I meant,” Ian clarified.  “No, I was referring to your display of temper, coupled with the obscene hour you insisted on leaving this morning.  I assumed you knew something that you weren’t telling me, something worth making a pre-dawn departure to investigate," he continued, stifling a yawn. "Either that or you had a hot date this evening that you didn’t want to be late for,” he added absently.

  
The glower dropped from Peter’s face and he cocked his jaw to the side, watching his partner twist and turn, draping his legs over the adjoining chair, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position for the long journey back to London.  “Ian, I wouldnae keep anythin’ from you in this, or any other investigation,” Peter ventured quietly.  “I value your opinion and your insight.  I thought you knew that,” he continued apologetically.

  
Ian blinked in surprise at the blatant honesty of Peter’s confession.  He accepted the statement with a slow nod, but he wasn’t prepared to let Peter completely off the hook. “So, it’s the hot date, then,” he joked.  “Where are you taking Donna tonight?”

  
Peter shifted awkwardly in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and looking over Ian’s head at the roof of the carriage.  “No, it’s no like that,” Peter said, hoping to deflect his partner’s inquiry.  Ian simply stared back with a sleepy smirk, crossing his arms in imitation of Peter’s posture but with a relaxed, knowing attitude.  Peter glared at him for the length of a breath before he let his head fall to the side and scratched at the back of his neck.  “I’m formally meetin’ Donna’s family tonight,” he admitted with a sigh, rubbing his chin, realizing he’d need to shave as soon as he got home.  “And I cannae afford to cock this up.  Her mum already detests the very sight of me.  I donae want to give her cause to go about trumpetin’ how right she was to hate me,” he finally confessed, leaning forward, hands clasped with elbows against his knees.  “I’m sorry, Ian.  I should be in better control of myself and my temper.  It’s bound to be my undoin' yet,” he admitted with a slight, wry smile.

  
“Probably,” agreed Ian.  He yawned openly and stretched, before relaxing back into his seat.  He ran his hands through his hair, then squinted thoughtfully at the man slumped over across from him.  “Peter, hold on: how can Donna’s mum hate you if she’s not met you?”

  
“I dinnae say we havenae met,” Peter explained with some reluctance, “I said we were meetin’ formally.”  Ian held out his hands in invitation to continue, and Peter sniffed loudly before complying.  “I may have, in the course of endeavorin’ to find out more of Donna’s missin’ past, inadvertently offended her mum by attemptin’ to pose questions of a personal nature without first disclosin’ my relationship with her daughter.”  He ducked his head and ran his hand over the back of his neck again, grimacing at the memory.  “And it probably did me no favors that her mum dinnae even know at the time that there was a relationship to disclose.”  Ian gaped at Peter as a bashful grin crept tentatively across his partner’s face and in response, Ian shook with silent laughter.

  
“No that it matters, though,” Peter added with a decisive nod, pursing his lips and slightly warming to the humor of his situation.  “A man could be Sir Galahad himself, a true paragon of virtue, and trust me, **that** woman would invent a way to find fault.”

  
Ian's laughter finally subsided and he stifled a truly colossal yawn before commiserating.  “I’ve seen the type.  She’ll come round to you eventually.”  Peter raised a disbelieving eyebrow and Ian added, “Probably,” as he closed his eyes and let his chin sink onto his chest.

  
Peter sat back once more as he regarded his friend appraisingly. “And why, if I may ask, are you so tired?” he asked.  Ian cracked open one eye and rolled his head onto his shoulder but remained silent.  “I know we left early and all, but it was only an hour and a half before you normally arrive and, in my defense, I did warn you at a decent hour yesterday.”  When Ian merely shrugged in response, Peter persisted.  “Besides, you slept most of the way here.  Out late last night?”

  
“No,” Ian replied, sitting up a bit.  “Not out.  Just up.”

  
Peter knew Ian had a perfectly good poker face, but for some reason, he had chosen not to employ it just then and there was something in his tone that invited further inquiry.  “A visitor?” Peter ventured with a hopeful lilt.

  
“No,” Ian demurred, “Not a visitor.  Not yet, at any rate.”  His eyes drifted slightly out of focus and he smiled without realizing it.  “But Maddie finally did pick up when I rang her again last night.  Three nights in a row, I called her, each night at - exactly - 10:00 - PM,” Ian said, stabbing the air with his finger to emphasize his precision.  “Her gallery is preparing for an installation and they work a few hours late each night a week in advance.  She’d be on the train home by then,” he explained.  “I knew the suspense would be killing her, wanting to know why I was calling, now, after all this time.  The anticipation alone was enough to override her natural reticence and, well,” Ian paused, his smile morphing into a grin, “while I wouldn’t say we’ve had a reconciliation as of yet, we do have an appointment to call and talk again tonight.”  His eyes refocused on his friend and partner and suddenly, Ian found the landscape flying by his window to be supremely engrossing.

  
“Well, then,” Peter exhaled, scratching his head thoughtfully, “lt looks as though it’ll be vital to the both of us that we achieve a positive outcome to our respective endeavors this evenin’, yeah?”  He regarded Ian indulgently before adding,  “Get a bit of shut-eye before we get back.  It wouldnae do to have you noddin’ off in the middle of somethin’ important later on t’night, now would it?”

 

 

  
**********

  
“Gramps, could you do me an enormous favor?” Donna practically begged into her mobile as she left the Met and headed for the Tube station.  “We’re still on for tonight, but we may be a tad late; but not much, though,” she hastened to add, pausing in front of the coffee shop.  She leaned back against the wall with a finger to her free ear to block out the tumult on the street, the better to hear Wilf's response. “No, no Gramps, everything is fine, really.  It's just that my Pol …. that Peter had to go out of town for an investigation and while he’s sure he left in plenty of time to be back, I’m just concerned that something might happen beyond his control, you know, and he may not be back as early as he thinks," she said in a rush.  "If he is delayed, can I message you and have you stall Mum a bit?  Please, so that she doesn’t know?”

  
She chewed her thumb anxiously listening to his reply, then sighed in relief.  “Oh, Gramps, you’re a life saver, you are. Just brilliant.  I heard about the pastin’ Mum gave Peter earlier and I just don’t want to give her any ammunition for tonight, right?  It’s gonna be difficult enough, bringing him to meet her without her ravin’ and rantin’ about punctuality and courtesy and such.”  She glanced up the street and smiled at Wilf's words.  "I’ll let you know the minute I hear from him later today.  And thanks again, Gramps."  

  
Donna pocketed her mobile and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment to check her internal clock: she’d had a busy day already and it was barely one in the afternoon.  She was pleased to find she still had plenty of time to make it back to her flat to meet up with Phil and approve the estimate for the security upgrade.  She hoped that while he was there, she could fill him in on the improvements she had only yesterday decided on for the second level in her flat.  Donna smiled, mentally walking through her planned renovations, starting with the transformation of her reading bower overlooking the park.  She broke into a grin, thinking of the look on Peter’s face when the new construction was complete and she could finally share it all with him.  It was time, after all, and she was positive that he’d approve.

  
She'd started the day by visiting Bence at the Met, as promised, before he was to be transferred an undisclosed location for protective custody. Donna hadn’t missed the sideways glances her reappearance in Serious Crime had caused and when she’d asked at the desk to see Bence, the tiny little receptionist had gaped at her in surprise before remembering herself.

  
“I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Noble,” Alice had blurted out as she touched a button on the headset she wore.  “Both DS Keating and DI Carlisle are out of the office at the moment.  I'll have to have another officer escort you, if you don't mind.”

  
"That's fine," Donna had replied, puzzled at the girl's response. "I knew that. I'm only here to see Bence anyway.” Glancing about, she had realized there was a sudden increase in general activity, triggered by the sound of her voice, with several people popping out of their offices and wandering aimlessly by. One older bloke at the far end of the corridor had even had the audacity to obviously study her as he sauntered towards the receptionist's desk, going as far as turning and walking backwards as he passed. Donna had held his gaze defiantly and she was a bit bemused when he finally broke into a grin before turning and continuing on his way. For her part, as soon as Donna's attention had been focused elsewhere, Alice had scrabbled for the phone to call for Donna's escort.

  
“DS Cave will take you down to see Mr. Bence in just a few moments, Ms. Noble,” Alice announced with with a smile.  “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”  The only clue to the young woman’s discomfort had been the nervous tap of her pen against the empty mug on her desk.  She had caught Donna’s tiny frown at the gesture and abruptly stopped, her plastic smile twisting into an uncomfortable grimace.

  
“No, thank you,” Donna had stated politely, flushing at the muted commotion her presence was causing and she’d prayed that her fair complexion didn’t betray her when the Detective Sergeant appeared at her elbow.  She needn’t have worried: she blanched when she turned to see the face of the man who had openly appraised her a few moments earlier.

  
“Ms. Noble, I’m Detective Sergeant Cave,” he had said formally.  “It’s a pleasure to actually meet you.  If you’d be so kind as to follow me, I’d be happy to be your escort this morning.”

 

  
**********

  
**Thursday, 14 June, 2012 6:55 PM**

  
Donna tossed Phil’s rough sketches aside, dashing down the stairs of her flat to answer the bell and she opened the door, only to stop in astonishment.  “Who are you?” she said, gaping in open-mouthed surprise at the man standing on her threshold, “And what have you done with my Policeman?”  Peter favored her with a slightly bashful grin as she looked him over from head to foot: there he was in a suit- a proper suit, complete with the blue shirt and one of the ties she'd recently bought for him- freshly shaven and carrying not one, but two bouquets of flowers.

  
Recovering quickly from the shock, she cocked an eyebrow at him and leaned back, one hand on her hip, the other still on the doorknob.  “Well, don’t just stand there, Copper!” she cried, stepping back to make room for him.  “Come on in and turn around, then.  Let me get a good look at you,” she demanded playfully, making turning motions with one hand, pressing her lips together to keep from giggling while letting her eyes roam appreciatively over his slim form.

  
Peter reddened slightly under her scrutiny, but took her gentle teasing with good humor.  “Does this count as ‘dressin’ to impress”, Ms. Noble?” he asked as he came in and stretched his arms out slightly, a bunch of flowers in each hand.  He turned on the spot for her inspection and announced, “I reckoned I’d wear my new shirt and tie tonight, seein’ as how appearances count a bit more here than ever they did in Kendall.”

  
“Is that right, Copper?” Donna drawled, brushing a stray hair from his lapel before smoothing it down.

  
“Weellll,” he replied, “in my experience, in the great city of London, the illusion of competency is more highly valued than results.”  He sniffed and nodded to himself as he considered the validity of his statement.  “At least in police work, that is,” he added dryly, wrinkling his nose.

  
“Peter,” Donna said, reaching out to touch his hand.  “You're always in black and white, but you’re a detective inspector: that's not how you see the world.”  She looked into his dark eyes with undisguised wonder, then shifted her gaze down and moved closer to straighten the perfect knot at his neck.  “Besides, admit it: you know you look good with a touch of color.  It makes your eyes brighter,” she cajoled, still fussing with his tie.

  
“Ah, but that’s where yer wrong, Ms. Noble,” he rejoined.  “That’s no the shirt; that’s all ye.”  She looked up and smiled and Peter took advantage of her proximity to kiss her gently, mentally vowing never to take the chance to do so for granted again.  He scowled suddenly and asked suspiciously, “Are ye here alone?”  He glanced around warily and Donna rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  
“Phil only left about 30 minutes ago,” she explained drily, “and then just so I could get dressed, Sherlock,” she said drily.  “All the arrangements have been made and the alarm system will be in by the end of next week.  While he was here, we also talked about renovations to finish out the second floor.  I’d show you his sketches now, but we just don’t have the time.”

  
“That’s alright, then” he said, nodding perfunctorily, “and ye can show me what you’ve got planned later on.  But for now, it’s my turn. Let me take a gander at ye.”  He stepped back and walked around her slowly, drinking her in.  “Ye look lovely,” he said, admiring the dress she wore and the way the fabric clung to her curves.  “Another shade of blue?  Now I’m goin’ to have to do a bit of work to determine which is my favorite on ye.  This one is well-suited to draw out the colour of yer hair,” he declared, admiring the bright waves that cascaded over her shoulders.  He shifted the flowers he still carried, cradling one bunch in the curve of his arm to free one hand.  “And it’s a particularly effective contrast to yer delicate complexion,” he added, tracing the neckline of her dress, stopping just shy of her cleavage.  “My wild English rose,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss her again and missing the tiny frown of confusion that vanished from her face the moment his lips met hers.  He pulled back, noting with satisfaction the flush spreading across Donna’s cheeks, but she recovered quickly.

  
“You clean up nicely, Policeman,” she declared, pushing herself away from him to catch her breath. She opened her mouth to continue, but there was something else about him that caught her eye.  She folded her arms and squinted, scrutinizing him even closer.  “Have you got a bit of product in your hair?” she asked suspiciously.

  
"No, it's just still a wee bit wet," he replied as she reached up to finger-comb it into place. "It'll dry soon and I dinnae want to be late." Unaccountably self-conscious, he reached up to touch his still-damp fringe and asked, ”Why do ye ask?  Do ye think I ought to?"

  
Donna leaned back to see him better and stiffened abruptly.  "Rose... This isn't right... I don't ...I never..." she muttered, her hands freezing in his thick, tousled hair.  She blinked in confusion, stumbling back a step, hardly breathing, her eyes darting between his hair and her own hands.

  
“Donna?  What is it?” Peter asked, laying the flowers on the counter behind him and moving towards her even as she retreated.  “Darlin’, what’s wrong?” he pleaded and she jerked her head back to him as though just remembering he was there.  She looked so lost, so out of place for a moment, doubt and uncertainty rippling across her features and as he reached out to tuck a stray tendril of red-gold hair behind her ear, Peter was startled when she flinched violently in response.  He stilled, keeping his arms outstretched but no longer moving towards her, watching intently as she continued to move away, chewing thoughtfully at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were glazed and he was suddenly sure that she wasn’t with him at all; she was wandering somewhere in her past with dim memories of his duplicate.

  
“Donna,” he said slowly, keeping his tone even despite the sudden pounding of his heart. “Donna, Love, it’s Peter.  Talk to me.”   At the sound of his voice, she blinked hard, jerking her face up to him and Peter saw an unmistakable flash of terror in her eyes that passed in a heartbeat. She frowned as she took a deep breath and gradually, her eyes cleared, focusing again on him.

  
“Donna, what just happened?” he asked.  “What did ye remember?”  He carefully controlled his face as he had his voice, not wanting to alarm her further with his own growing fears.

  
“Re…remember?” she stammered, staring down at her hands.  “I… I don’t….”  She closed her eyes briefly and as the confusion fell away from her face, she was herself again, standing in her flat, looking up at him with a lopsided smile.

  
“Sorry, Peter.  I… I’m sorry, I dunno where my mind was for a mo,” she admitted bashfully as he approached her and made an obvious show of placing one hand on her waist and the other on her cheek.  She looked at him quizzically as he inched closer, gauging her response to his proximity.  When he was sure she wouldn’t jerk away again, he tilted her face up to him and studied her as she smiled sweetly and gave him an impulsive peck on the cheek.

  
“What were we talkin’ about again?” she asked, and as quickly as her episode had began, it was over.

  
“Oh!  Your hair!“ she cried, burying her hands in it and stepping back into his arms.  “No!  No, don’t use anythin’ on it.  Never,” she stated emphatically, shaking her head.  “Never, ever, ever!”

  
Surprised at her abrupt return, Peter could only smile despite his bafflement and, without the benefit of context, Donna misinterpreted his reaction.

  
“Oh, don't get me wrong, Copper,” she hastened to explain.  “I think you'd look brilliant, but it's just that I'd be afraid to touch it, your hair, if it was all styled and perfect.”  She twisted it up and then smoothed it back down, running her nails gently over his scalp in the process, enjoying his involuntary sigh at the sensation.  “I like it like this,” she continued in a low, husky voice.  “I can run my hands through it and play with it and you still look gorgeous.”  Donna pressed herself to him, wrapping her arms around Peter and closing her eyes as he returned the embrace.  He paused, debating whether to investigate her strange turn further or let it lie when she decided for him.

  
“I love it.  I love you, Peter Carlisle,” she murmured against his throat as she relaxed against him.  She inhaled deeply in satisfaction and when she smelled honeysuckle, she stretched up to peek over his shoulder.  “What’s with the two bouquets?” Donna asked, reluctantly leaving his arms and moving to the counter.   “That’s overdoin’ it just a smidge, don’t ‘cha think?”  She picked up the smaller of the two arrangements and turned to smirk at him.

  
“No, I donae,’ he replied, following her back to the counter.  “That one's for ye,” he said, indicating the artful tangle of honeysuckle surrounding a single coral rose and a stalk of purple thistle she held.  He indicated the more traditional bouquet of off-white roses with a nod of his head.  “That one is for yer mum,” he explained.  Her lips twitched into a knowing smile and Peter continued.  “First impressions and all,” he said with an ironic shrug, waiting for the retort he knew was coming.

  
“How does that work, then?  She has seen you before and no one, least of all you, could forget meetin’ my mum, no matter how hard they might try,” Donna threw over her shoulder as she reached up for another vase on her top shelf.

  
“Aye,” he agreed as she moved to place the new flower arrangement in the center of her dining room table and he followed close behind.  “I have had the pleasure of meetin’ yer mother,” he said, biting his cheek to keep from laughing at Donna’s disbelieving snort, “But no with ye around.”

  
“Oh, don’t think that’s gonna make a difference, Copper!” she declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder and rounding on him.  “If anything, she’ll enjoy pinnin’ you to the wall even more, just to watch me squirm.  And you!  You just sent me flowers, Copper, and now you’ve brought more?  When did you decide I was such hard work?  You need to stop it with the floral flattery anyhow- I only have two vases and they’re both full.”

  
Amusement danced in Peter’s eyes, but he knew discretion was the better part of valor and he elected to keep his thoughts on both mothers and flowers to himself.  “It is close to our anniversary, after all,” he said, embracing her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

  
“What are you on about?  You need to get your calendar straight!” she replied, turning in his embrace.  “We’ve only been goin’ out about two months, Peter. “

  
“Welllll,” he drawled, tugging at his ear and favoring her with that slow, sultry smile she loved, “that all depends upon the anniversary we’re celebratin’, does it no?”  When he smiled at her like that, Donna’s breathing became uneven and she knew she’d agree to anything he said.  “Saturday will be two months since I saw ye first, if we go by the date,” he explained, running his thumb gently over her cheek.  “Sunday: two months since our first conversation.  Next Thursday, two months since our first date,” he continued, slowly moving her hair back from her face, relieved when she simply smiled.   “The Thursday after that, two months since I fell in love with ye, and…” he scrunched up his face, calculating the elapsed time, “Next Monday, it’ll be a month gone since ye told me ye loved me.”  He leaned into her and kissed her deeply, then rested his forehead against hers.

  
“I waited ’til the last second to tell you,” she confided in the barest whisper, clasping her hands behind his neck.  “Otherwise, it would’ve come out a bit quick and the last thing I wanted was you gettin’ all full of yourself.”  She shifted her gaze up just in time to see him roll his eyes in response and she grinned.

  
“Well, Copper, you’ve obviously given this quite a bit of thought,” she laughed, gesturing at the roses behind her, then reaching up once again to straighten his hair.  “Just don’t count on it holdin’ any water with my mum.  She hasn't a sentimental bone in her body,” she said ruefully, “and she naturally assumes the worst of everyone.  The only person she ever approved of was Shaun, and even then, only just barely.”  She smiled sadly, and caressed his cheek.  “It’s not too late to back out, you know,” she offered quietly.

  
“I promised to slay a dragon for ye,” he whispered, “I think dinner with your mum is far less hazardous to life and limb.”

  
Donna nodded dubiously.  “You’ve been warned, Peter.  Just, please: don’t hold tonight against me,” she said gravely.  She checked her mental clock, and shrugged internally; there would be time later to share her plans for her flat. “And now, we have to go or we’ll be late,” she said, dragging him to the door as she dug into her bag and dashed off a quick text.

  
**********

  
"I don't see why I should have to be seen in public with that man," Sylvia Noble sniffed angrily as she adjusted her earring in the downstairs mirror.  “I think I made my feelings perfectly clear the last time he was here.  And the time before that, come to think of it.”

  
Wilf looked up from his mobile with a relieved smile, pocketing the device as he shrugged into his jacket.  “Sylvia, we've been over this time and again,” he said, not quite succeeding in keeping the exasperation from his voice.  “She's your daughter and he’s the man in her life.  And you're the one always goin' on and on, how Donna doesn't tell you anythin’ about what she’s up to and you have no idea where she is or who she's with, and now that she's going out of her way, makin’ an effort to include you, you're complainin’?”

  
“Oh, now she includes me?  When that man waltzes back in, everything is suddenly all tea and crumpets and I’m expected to smile, is that it?” Sylvia said caustically, crossing her arms and glaring at her father.

  
“I know why you're worried, Syl, but it's gonna be all right, just you wait and see,” Wilf reassured her.  “He’s not the Doctor. He's not the same man and you know it.  He’s good for her and this is…”

  
“This is not all right, this is never going to be all right,” Sylvia interrupted stridently. “Donna's not safe as long as that man's around her!”  She threw up her hands in exasperation and turned on Wilf viciously.  “Am I the only one that remembers what His Lordship said would happen to her if she remembered anything about him when he dumped her back here?” she cried, pointing at the floor.  “And if anything’s going to make her remember, it’s **that man**!”

  
“But Sylvia, they’ve been together for nearly two months now!” Wilf argued.  “Don’t you think if she were going to remember somethin’ bad, she’d ‘ve done it by now?”  Sylvia snorted in disgust and turned away as Wilf pursued her across the living room.  “And they’re happy together!  He makes her happy!” he continued, hoping to make her see reason.

  
“I don’t care if she’s happy!” Sylvia barked, whipping around to face Wilf.  “I don't care if he makes her happy!  I want her safe: safe and alive!” she cried shrilly before she stopped short, looking down and unable to meet Wilf’s gaze.  “That's not what I meant,” she said quietly.

  
“I know, Syl.  I know,” Wilf replied, patting the back of her hand.  “But I think she can be.  I think Donna can be safe and happy with this DI Carlisle.”  Sylvia eyed him dubiously and pressed her lips together in a stubborn frown.  “Give him a chance,” Wilf wheedled.  “Give **them** a chance,” he said and Sylvia’s lip curled in contempt before she nodded exactly once.

**Thursday, 14 June, 2012 7:25 PM**

  
“Mum!” Donna hissed behind her menu as Peter chatted amiably with Wilf, “Just how many people did you tell we’d be here for dinner?  All of Chiswick is here tonight!”  Suzette sat in the far corner booth of Café Rouge, the one with a perfect, unobstructed view of their table and Donna glanced up to see Marceline walking casually past the large picture window to her right for the third time.

  
“I might have casually mentioned that my daughter was bringing a date to dinner tonight.  Especially since it’s the only way, it seems, that she can be bothered to visit,” Sylvia sniffed in response.  “What do you think of what’s on special tonight?  I’m not usually keen on salmon, but this sounds quite good.”  She glanced at the table in the front window where Zoe and Harriet sat, heads together and whispering, making restrained gestures in Donna’s direction with their forks as they dished over a shared dessert.

  
“Mum,” Donna growled, her tone somewhere between threatening and pleading as she shot her lover a quick sideways glance, “please, don’t embarrass me tonight.”  Wilf had just launched into the story of the time Donna had, as a child, commandeered the local football team to help her find her missing tabby cat, Lancelot, when Sylvia dropped her menu a fraction to regard Donna with a withering stare.  “Please,” Donna went on desperately.  “Please, please, please: just don’t do anything dreadful in front of Peter,” she begged.  “You can read me the riot act, if you’d like, in private, but not in front of him.”

  
Sylvia’s eyes bored into her but Donna refused to back down.  “I never say or do anything without cause, and you bloody well know it, so don’t you go playing the victim with me, Lady,” she said conversationally.  “If I’m to be dragged out in public against my will to have dinner with company not to my liking, I see absolutely no reason to censor myself.”  She placed her menu on the table and sat back with a smile, her body language completely at odds with her cold words.

  
“No one’s draggin’ you and you know it,” Donna retorted hotly in a whisper.  “Peter is your host tonight and, if for no other reason than that, you’re gonna behave.  It’s that or I’ll grab him up and flounce out of here right now and embarrass you in front of all your friends.”

  
“They’d expect no less from you, Lady Muck,” Sylvia taunted as the waiter approached their table, “so don’t think you can threaten me.  I’ll be as polite and cordial as you- and he- deserve.”  She turned to the waiter, all smiles and charm and declared, “Oh, Armand!  It’s been an age!  How have you been?”

  
To Donna’s immense surprise and relief, Sylvia proceeded to be more civil to Peter than she had been with anyone Donna had ever brought home.  Her dinner conversation was polite, pleasant even, and she responded courteously to all comments, going so far as to reply to the few chit-chat questions put to her with uncharacteristic restraint.  Donna was frankly amazed as her mother seemed to be completely human- for once- and even acted as though she might be warming to Peter.  Just as she was beginning to relax and enjoy the evening, though, the other shoe dropped.

  
“Dad, look over there,” Sylvia said in that casual way that instantly put Donna on alert.  “Isn’t that Mrs. Hooper and her granddaughter?  You know, the one with the new baby?”  She waved across the restaurant to the other table with a brittle smile that left nothing to Donna’s imagination.  “Why don’t you go over and say hello?”

  
Wilf looked up and when he caught sight of Minnie, his whole face lit up.  “I think I will, just for a mo,” he said, pushing away from the table.  He raised his eyebrows in hopeful invitation to Donna to accompany him, but she shook her head almost imperceptibly.  He shrugged slightly and sighed before all but dancing over to the other table.

  
“Isn’t her granddaughter almost your age, Donna?  Weren’t you in school with her?” Sylvia prodded mercilessly.  “Why don’t you be sociable for once and go over and say hello?”   She glared at Donna from behind her polite mask and Donna fumbled under the table for Peter’s hand.

  
“No, mum, Katie was in the year after me.  We hardly knew each other,” Donna demurred and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as she looked up to find Wilf motioning her over.

  
“Donna!  Donna, come see the baby!” Wilf stage-whispered delightedly, ignoring the heads turned in his direction.  “Oh, can I?” he said, almost in awe as Katie offered the tiny bundle to him with a smile.

  
“Come on, Peter,” she said, attempting to sound casual as she reluctantly stood.  “Mrs. Hooper’s a friend of Gramps’ and I haven’t seen Katie since she moved away after school.”  Her eyes widened in a silent plea, but Peter remained in his seat.

  
“I’ll wait here, if it’s all the same to you,” he said, pulling her hand to his lips for a quick kiss.  He smiled up at her reassuringly and continued.  “I had a bit of a sniffle earlier: don’t want to risk makin’ the little one ill.  I’ll just avail myself of your mother’s excellent company in your absence.”  When Donna’s face froze in horror, he smirked slightly before settling into a pleasant smile.  “Go on: they’re all waitin’ for you.”

  
Trapped and seeing no possible escape, Donna trudged over to where Wilf sat, cooing and mooning over the tiny baby in his arms.  She couldn’t help but throw desperate glances over her shoulder as she went and Peter, for his part, smiled and waved at Mrs. Hooper who returned his gesture knowingly.

  
When Donna was well on her way and out of earshot, Sylvia raised one eyebrow in an expression Peter recognized from another, beloved face.  “Well, Mr. Carlisle, that was certainly smooth,” she said, taking a sip of wine from her glass, the most expensive wine on the menu that she’d ordered out of pure spite.

  
Peter regarded her mildly for a moment before he spoke.  “So, Mrs. Noble, why exactly do you no approve of me seein’ your daughter?” he asked, his demeanor betraying nothing to anyone who might be watching.  “If it's your intention to provide me with a disincentive to continue my association with Donna, I must warn you that you’re wastin' your time. It willnae be successful.”  He took a casual sip from his own glass, smiling comfortingly at Donna’s stricken face from across the room.

  
“Well, you certainly don’t mince words, now, do you, Detective Inspector Carlisle?” Sylvia remarked in an acid-dripped tone.  She pursed her lips and waited for his next move.

  
“I donae see the point.  Donna wouldnae put up with it, and I assume she takes after you in that respect,” he replied bluntly with a gentle shake of his head.  “I will tell you now, though, there’s nothin’ you can say that will alter my intentions towards your daughter.”

  
“Which are?”

  
“I love her.  I intend to stay a part of her life for as long as she’ll have me.  Beyond that is up to her entirely,” he confessed.  He looked across the restaurant at Donna who continued to shoot worried looks at him occasionally, but she was obviously falling under the spell of the baby still in Wilf’s arms.  Peter smiled as her expression softened when she reached over to tug up a tiny sock that had slipped down a miniature little foot.  “So, in the interest of familial harmony, may I suggest a truce?” he offered, turning back to find Sylvia watching him intently.

  
“And so you don’t waste any time, either, I see.” Sylvia Noble snapped bitterly.  “Detective Inspector Carlisle...,” she began.

  
“Peter, Mrs. Noble.  You can call me Peter,” he interrupted.

  
“Detective Inspector Carlisle,” she ground out in return, “just how long have you ... known ... my daughter?”

  
“We’ve been seein’ each other for two months now,” he replied, sidestepping the implied slur and stretching the truth a tiny bit.  “We met accidentally, in the course of an inquiry.”

  
“And as a Detective, it didn’t take you long to discover Donna’s financial situation, now did it?”  Sylvia scoffed, twitching a finger at him.  “I know your type, young man,” she sneered at him in disgust.  “As soon as you’ve had what you want, you’ll be off in a flash. The first time a younger, prettier woman turns your head, you’ll be gone and I’ll be left behind to pick up after you.“

  
Peter bristled indignantly, a retort at the ready, but a sudden thought held his tongue.  His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “Is that what happened with Doctor Smith?” he asked, watching the one member of the Mott-Noble household he would never want to play cards with- her face betrayed nothing.

  
“What do you know about that?” Sylvia finally said.

  
It was Peter’s turn to make Sylvia wait.  “I know it’s been hauntin’ Donna and makin’ her unhappy,” he said slowly.  “I know you know more about it than you’re prepared to let on.  I know you probably know everythin’ she needs to know, but you think keepin’ the truth from her is better: it somehow makes her safe,” he continued, his voice rising slightly as he stared at her.  Sylvia merely returned his look in stony silence.

  
“I donae know what you’re hidin’, but I know you think it’s what’s best for her,” he finally admitted, looking back to Donna, now cradling the baby in her arms.  His lips involuntarily twitched into a slight smile and Donna glanced up and caught his eye.  She grinned almost bashfully, then looked at him in question.  He nodded as his smile became genuine and she glanced down at the baby then back to him with a melancholy expression that tore his heart.

  
When Sylvia remained quiet, Peter turned back to her and regarded her steadily.  “Mrs. Noble, somethin’s been bothin’ me since we first met,” he ventured and he took her answering snort of derision as an invitation to continue.  “Why, when you lied to me, did you say Donna was happy and that she’d moved far away?"  Peter watched her closely and knew he’d hit upon something important when Sylvia reached again for her glass.

  
“You donae want her to find this Dr. Smith and you donae want him to find her.  You lied in a way that suggests he would be dissuaded from pursuin' her if she was content in her life without him.  That suggests that you believe he cares for her, enough to walk away if his absence was in her best interests.”  Sylvia remained obstinately silent, openly glaring at Peter.  He ignored the commotion at the front of the restaurant from two women who were busy shooing away the waiter who had brought their bill and had the audacity to block their view of the proceedings.  “Why are you so determined to keep them apart?,” he ventured slowly.  “Why should she no know about her past? Why do you hate him so much?”

  
“That’s not true.  Donna’s wrong,” Sylvia retorted angrily.  “Her Doctor Smith: I never hated him, not like she thinks.”  She paused for a moment, then took another drink before awkwardly correcting herself.  “Thought.  Not like she thought.”  She rounded on Peter with subdued violence.  “How could I, after all he …” she hissed, stopping short and finally regaining some semblance of control.  “I don’t know much at all about what the two of them got up to, but I do know she was happy.  I didn’t think it at the time, but... in some ways, she was better with him,” Sylvia grudgingly allowed.

  
Peter sat for a long moment, processing her confession.  “So they were together?” he asked slowly.  “They were a...a couple?”

  
Sylvia’s eyes rolled and she took another quick drink, draining her glass before answering. “Oh, no!  Heaven forbid!” she cried.  She looked over at Peter then and something inside her gave way.  “At least, she claimed there was nothing going on between them,” she said with a shrug.  “No, her grandfather knows more about it than I do, but she was adamant that they were just mates.”

  
“Then why do you ... “ Peter began, pausing and lifting a curious eyebrow, “dislike him so much?”  He reached over and unobtrusively filled both their glasses before taking a careful sip from his own.

  
“The fact that they were ‘just mates’ was part of the reason I disliked him, actually,” Sylvia explained with a scant nod of thanks as she lifted her glass again.  “How was Donna ever supposed to settle down, build a life, have a family, when she was always running about with him?”  She lapsed into pensive silence and Peter waited her out.

  
“But it was more than that,” she added bitterly.  “I hated how he made me feel whenever he looked at me- like I was small and unimportant.  And worse, I hated how he made Donna feel when she was with him,” she spat.

  
“He mistreated her?” Peter let slip out in surprise.

  
“No, no, nothing like that,” she scoffed.  Sylvia stared out the window, almost laughing as Marceline walked by once more.  “He … wasn’t a bad man,” she admitted reluctantly,  refusing to meet Peter’s eyes.  “He just wasn’t good for Donna.”  Peter nodded, but she could tell he wasn’t convinced.

  
“You don’t have any idea of what that was like,” Sylvia confided, suddenly desperate to make him understand.  “She just dropped out of our lives without a word.  She called regularly, spoke to Dad mostly, but….”  She shook her head angrily in recollection. “Donna didn’t hesitate to follow him anywhere, and that man- he was dangerous,” she snarled at Peter as if it were somehow his fault. “Wherever he went, death and destruction were close behind.  When she was with him, she had the courage of her convictions.  He made her reckless, made her believe she could do anything, go anywhere, and she acted like she’d live forever.”  Sylvia sat back with a dazed expression as if realizing that she’d said too much and yet she still couldn’t stop herself.

  
“And look where that got her,” she cried.  “He had no right to do that.  He had no right to do that to her.  I was glad when he….” Her voice broke and she looked away guiltily.  “I was glad when he left her here,” she finished.  Sylvia turned back to him once more and looked at Peter dismissively.  “And that’s what I see when I look at you.  All that pain and suffering that could have been avoided.  Because Donna hasn’t been the same since.”  Sylvia finished her wine and stared morosely down into her glass.  “You’re very good at your job, Detective Inspector Carlisle,” she said quietly.

  
Peter raised his eyebrows and shrugged and in return, Sylvia remarked drily, ”Spare me your false modesty, DI.”  Peter chuckled and Sylvia smiled at him despite herself.  She took a deep breath and continued.  “So there you have it.  You know everything I know.”  She stared at him closely, then blurted out, “You’ve said you love her?”

  
“Yes, I do,” he agreed.

  
“Then find a way to walk away,” Sylvia demanded.  “Leave her.”

  
“Why?” Peter breathed, aghast at her suggestion.

  
“Because he was dangerous. He made her fearless and she was the one to pay the price because of it.  He was dangerous,” she repeated, pointing at him across the table, “And so are you.”

  
“I understand that. But I'm no him,” he replied grimly, remembering how he’d felt when he’d found Donna seated across from a potential murderer.

  
“And I understand that,” she replied immediately, “and … I'm sorry. I truly am. I do think you love her.”  Her face hardened and Peter saw her screw her courage to the sticking place as she readied to renew her attack.  “But what happened to her when she was with him?  If she remembers, even for a second, it will kill her, DI Carlisle.”  She shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand, muttering, “It will literally kill her.”

  
Peter watched her carefully before responding, “I willnae leave her. It would kill me.”  The silence that followed was broken only by the clink of silverware on china and glasses raised in toasts as the other diners continued their meals, oblivious to the drama coming to a close in their midst.

  
“I can't influence her decisions anymore. I... I've burned my bridges there.  And her granddad has sided with you,” Sylvia admitted with a shrug.  “So in the end, it’s all down to you.  I am warning you, DI.  I know the difference between literal and figurative language, sir.”  She reached out to touch Peter’s sleeve briefly.  “Mark my words, DI. Some day, if you continue on the way you two have; some day, you'll see her die in your arms.  I want to spare you that.  I don't want to bury my daughter, DI Carlisle. And if I do, just know I'll come looking for you.”

  
Sylvia stood from the table and waved cheerfully at her friend, Suzette, across the room, looking for all the world as if she’d just noticed her sitting there.  As she started to join her, she glanced back at Peter and paused.

  
“DI, a final word?  I know my daughter.  She wouldn’t subject you to meeting me if you weren’t important to her,” she confessed and Peter saw a shadow of sorrow pass over her features for an instant before it vanished completely.  “If you’re dead set on keeping Donna in your life- and don’t think I’m giving you my blessing to do so.  But if you’re sure, make me one promise.” Peter nodded curiously and Sylvia stared at him.  “Keep him away from her,” she finally whispered.  “I don’t care how you do it, but keep him away from her.”   She fixed her smile back in place and continued across to Suzette, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.

  
**************

  
**Thursday, 14 June, 2012 10:40 PM**

  
“Well, this day could have gone worse,” Donna sighed as she put her bag down and turned to kiss her DI.  She’d waited until they were safely back in his flat before offering her assessment of the evening so that she could see his eyes and fairly judge his reaction.  Peter nodded absently at first, still mulling over what Donna’s mother had disclosed and how best to approach her with the new information when he saw her expectant look and froze.

  
Realizing belatedly what she’d said, Peter focused on her and replied, “It wasnae nearly the ordeal ye made it out to be.  Wilf is a genuine pleasure to be around and yer mum and I, we came to an understandin' in the end.  That, added to the pleasure of yer company, and it was a highly successful endeavor, I should think.”  When she didn’t respond immediately, Peter cocked an eyebrow and waited patiently.

  
Donna chewed her lip and her fingers tapped sequentially across her thumb: she seemed to be calculating something in her head before she looked up and him and grinned wickedly.  “Fifty words exactly,” she chuckled, dancing backwards out of his embrace and dashing down the hall towards his bedroom.

  
“Wha..? You..” he growled, chasing after her in an instant, catching her in the doorway and tickling her until she giggled madly in his arms.  When he let up and she could once again breathe, she tugged him closer and kissed him soundly before stepping away to get ready for bed.

  
“Thank you for tonight.  You didn’t have to do that, you know.  Put up with my mum the way you did.” she said quietly as she unzipped her dress.

  
“She cares about ye.  We have that in common,” he replied simply.

  
“You look good in a suit, Peter, but I like you better out of it,” she said, changing the subject. She watched him hang his suit jacket back in the wardrobe as she shrugged out of her dress.  She turned back to him and when his smile grew dark and dangerous, she gulped and amended her statement.

  
“What I mean is I like you best in what you typically wear around me.”  He smirked as he continued to undress, the remaining alcohol in his bloodstream affecting him just enough that he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, toying with his belt buckle and rotating his hips for show.  He barely managed to duck when Donna threw a pair of rolled-up socks straight at his head.

  
“Oh, go on, you know what I mean…,” she said with a guffaw.  “I mean, more casual, like in jeans on the weekend.”  Donna tugged her nightie down and pulled the covers back before flopping down on his bed with a sigh.  She turned over, admiring his bum as he stood there, obviously debating whether to wear the trousers one more time or send them out to be cleaned.  He turned around to ask her opinion and caught her looking and he smiled as he chucked them over the back of a chair and climbed into bed with her.

  
“Why, thank ye, Ms. Noble,” he sing-songed, rewarding her implied complement with a spectacular smile and a kiss.  Donna sighed theatrically, remembering his lesson on accepting complements.

  
“Well, I guess that’s not strictly true,” she backtracked, almost snickering at his puzzled look.  “I like you best out of your jeans, truth be told,” she finished, slapping at his hands as he tickled her ribs in retribution.

  
He laid down next to her, staring absently at the ceiling while Donna nestled against him. “And how did yer visit with Bence go this mornin’ then?  Ye dinnae have any trouble gettin’ in to see him, did ye?” he asked.

  
He looked over at her with a lopsided smile as she sighed and pulled a face. “I really should start chargin’ an appearance fee whenever I go there,’ she groused.  “The whole buildin’ has to wander by for a look, makin’ sure I’m on my best behavior, I reckon.”  She looked at him, then blew her fringe up and out of her eyes.  “Nosy, intrusive sods,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance.

  
Peter chuckled in response and just managed to evade Donna’s answering punch in the arm.  He caught her hand instead, kissing her knuckles before leaning in close.  “Donna, Love, they’re detectives, same as me. They're nosy and intrusive sods for a livin’.”  Her lips twitched as she tried to hide her amusement and he continued.  “So, turnabout is fair play.  Ye still up to a night with nosy, intrusive sods tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

  
“What, after I put myself on display the other day?” she asked, mortified at the memory.  “Surely everyone in your division, if not the entire buildin’ is aware of the horror you have the misfortune of sharin’ your bed with?  Hasn’t that rumor been put to rest?”

  
Peter stroked her cheek gently, recognizing the embarrassment behind the remark and deciding to let it go.  “Weeellll, on the upside of our unfortunate display,” he drawled, earning a tiny smile from Donna, “that particular wager has been settled, much to Alec's satisfaction, but…”  He trailed off with a dramatic sigh designed to elicit a response and Donna did not disappoint.

  
“But?” she drawled in imitation, knowing he was manipulating her.

“The office gossip is that the pot has grown fourfold, Ms. Noble,” he announced in a rush, rolling over and bracing himself on his elbow, “with odds favorin' that you'll never speak to me again, much less be seen with me in public. Yer appearance today, with me obviously out of the picture, only served to increase anticipation for Friday’s rumored and heretofore totally unprecedented appearance of one DI, conspicuous in his absence at St. Stephens to date.  Consequently, participation in the wagerin’ has more than doubled.  Hamish seems to be heavily invested, so to speak, in this endeavor.”

  
He grinned madly and unfolded one of her arms from her chest, kissing it before asking, “Care to prove them wrong, Ms Noble, and provide young Hamish with a consolation prize in the process?”

  
“You really want me to go with you, see your coworkers socially, after Tuesday?  After yesterday?” she gulped in astonishment.

  
“I told you.  Alec, Ian and even Hamish- they were there to help.  They've no said a word, and no one save those three knows anythin’ about what’s happened.”  When she regarded him dubiously, he clarified.  “Yes, Donna.  I want you to go.”

  
Se watched him warily for a long moment before she huffed, “Fine.  I’ll go.  But I’m not gettin’ dressed up for it.  I’m goin’ there just the same as I would the George.”

  
“I wouldnae have it any other way,” he replied before sliding back beside her and enfolding her in his arms.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, give over," Alec said the moment the door shut, not bothering to look up from his report. He recognized the approaching footsteps and besides, it was too early in the day to be anyone else coming in to the Met’s forensic laboratory, especially bearing the beverage he could detect from across the lab. Peter Carlisle was the only man he knew who could charm the barista across the way into making a salted caramel hot chocolate out of season during the morning rush.

Friday, 15 June, 2012   7:15 AM  
  
"Well, give over," Alec said the moment the door shut, not bothering to look up from his report. He recognized the approaching footsteps and besides, it was too early in the day to be anyone else coming in to the Met’s forensic laboratory, especially bearing the beverage he could detect from across the lab. Peter Carlisle was the only man he knew who could charm the barista across the way into making a salted caramel hot chocolate out of season during the morning rush.  
  
"Is she coming out with you tonight or not?" Alec asked, extending his left hand to accept the DI's offering as he turned to retrieve the report he knew the man had come for.  “ ‘Never speaking to you again’ is the odds-on favourite right now, especially since her solo visit to see Bence yesterday.”  
  
"My personal life is in danger of becomin' an unhealthy obsession with ye: ye are aware of that, correct?" Peter said mildly, handing over Alec's bribe of choice.  "And while we're on the subject of obsession, are ye developin' a gamblin' problem, perhaps?”  
  
"Firstly, I think I recall you dragging me bodily into your private life when you called and demanded that I meet you post haste at Donna's flat, yeah?" Alec drawled thoughtfully, letting his reading glasses slip down his nose and swiveling his chair around to face Peter.  He dropped the folder to his desk and rocked back and forth happily, prising off the lid of his cup and scooping out a finger-full of caramel-laden whipped cream. He popped it into his mouth and grinned before wagging that self-same finger in Peter's face. “And secondly, I'll have you know the only problem with my gambling is that you're acting like a self-righteous prig who won't give me a hint as to how to increase my take of tonight's pot!"  Alec plopped his cup down on the desk, crossing his arms and harrumphing for show before breaking character and grinning at DI Carlisle. "Seriously...", he wheedled.  
  
"Yes, seriously," Peter interjected, picking up the abandoned cup and putting it back in Alec's hand. He flicked the folder Alec had placed on the desk and rocked back on his heels expectantly, hands thrust deep in his coat pockets.  "What can ye tell me about the wanker who broke into Donna's flat?"  His voice was light, almost jaunty even, but Alec didn't miss the flash of something dark and dangerous in Peter's eyes.  
  
"Might this situation be considered a misappropriation of public assets?  A personal use of government services?” Alec teased, swinging back to his computer and starting to type. "I'm public property you know." He glanced up and was gratified to see a tiny smile flit across the DI's face in response to his gentle jibe.  
  
"Not when we have reason to suspect said wanker also burgled my offices and stole files pertainin’ to a witness in an ongoin’ murder investigation, no," Peter replied sardonically but without heat. "Now, enough foreplay: what can you tell me about our mysterious intruder?”  
  
Alec sobered, becoming all business and leaned back to open the folder on his desk for Peter’s perusal.  He tapped the photo he’d taken at Donna’s flat and continued.  "He was good, whoever he was, I’ll give him that. No fingerprints, no trace evidence anywhere in her flat, beyond the boot print, that is. But here's the thing: the print suggests a male, based on the style and size.”

“And?"  Peter shrugged, not in the least surprised by the assumption as he studied the picture closer, looking for the remarkable detail he knew Alec would eventually reveal.  
  
"A male who would be at least… I dunno?  A hundred?  Older?,” Alec leaned in his chair, stretching his back before taking a drink.  “Maybe he indulges in historical reenactments or frequents secondhand stores?  That, or perhaps he’s a rich eccentric,” he added with a smirk as he licked chocolate from his lips.  
  
“What?” Peter asked, looking up from the image.  “What're ye haverin’ on about?”  
  
Alec set his hot chocolate down and slipped into professorial mode.  “It’s the boot.  The print shows signs of it being handmade, and well-done, in a style not seen in almost a hundred years,” he said, “Although the sole shows evidence of use, it’s by no means worn out and there’s nothing to indicate that it’s been repaired.  But the most interesting part?” he added, tapping his pen against his teeth.  Peter raised his eyebrows in silent invitation to continue.  
  
“Look here,” Alec said, pointing at the photo with his pen.  “It’s got a double-row of square head nails in the heel. Yeah, it could've been made by a modern cobbler, surely, but who goes to the lengths to get square nails these days?”  Alec shrugged and leaned back in his chair again, looking around for the beverage he’d forgotten in his excitement.  He retrieved his cup and took a sip before propping his feet up on the desk.  “Nope,” he sighed happily, delighting in the intellectual puzzle, “I’d bet my soul it’s vintage.”  
  
“There ye go, bettin’ again, and with such poor stakes, ye’ll get no takers,” Peter replied, chewing pensively on one thumb, his attention still focused on the image he held.  He nodded thoughtfully before turning back to the Forensic Specialist.  “That's it, then? Nothing more?” he asked with a frown.  
  
“Oh, just this," Alec said, allowing himself a sly grin. He leaned back and punched a key on his laptop with a theatrical flourish and Peter recognized the video sequence taken from the Met's security footage as it flared onto the screen: a single boot, poised in midair, reminding Peter absurdly of an infamous Monty Python skit.   Alec advanced it frame by frame as Peter's mysterious intruder performed his own version of a Silly Walk.  Planting his boot firmly in the middle of the corridor, Donna’s Drunken Giraffe lurched into frame and spun on his heel, whipping the mysterious device he carried around to point at the camera.  
  
“Look familiar?” Alec asked, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for his friend’s reaction.  
  
“I knew it was him,” Peter muttered darkly.  He stared at the man onscreen, his lip curled slightly in disgust.  "And ye’re sure this is the same boot?” Peter suddenly demanded, pointing at the screen. “Ye can tell from this?”  
  
“Of course not,” Alec scoffed.  “I mean, the resolution on the security footage is beyond rubbish, you can’t see the bottom of the shoe from this angle and by the time we realized you’d had a break-in here, all trace evidence had been destroyed by the normal comings and goings in the department.”  He crossed his arms and sat back with his chin in hand and continued.  “But the boot style is consistent, as is the methodology of the intrusion.  If I were to hazard a guess, I’d bet this is the person responsible for both incidents."

“That’s all but a sure thing,” Peter replied, wondering why this strange man kept popping up in Donna’s life.  He needed to locate him, and soon.  He had too many questions and not enough answers, but he was sure this trespasser could provide him with the information he wanted, given the right circumstances.  “But, if we were to locate this man and find these boots, we could tie him visually to the theft in my office and through trace evidence to the intrusion at Donna’s flat.  It’s all still circumstantial evidence, but…” he said, stopping abruptly as a new theory began to form in his mind.  
  
His eyes widened as the disparate pieces all fell into place: covert observation of and interference in the lives of people who had accidentally stumbled upon things best left alone, advanced technologies wielded by agents who operated with impunity outside the law, and the unexplained memory loss of anyone unfortunate enough to encounter them.  The rumors were well-known to anyone connected to law enforcement and the organization allegedly responsible had long ago become a kind of bogey-man for those who spent their lives in pursuit of the truth.  He mentally reprocessed all the evidence, looking for anything that didn’t fit the pattern and his blood ran cold when all the incoherent details coalesced into an unwelcome whole.  
  
Alec continued to stare at the screen, advancing the images frame by frame while twisting and turning his head, looking for any other significant details he might have missed, completely unaware of the epiphany Peter was experiencing.  Finally giving up, he swiveled about abruptly, letting the momentum carry him back to face the DI and dropping his heel onto the footrest to arrest his movement.  Peter inhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose and schooling his features back to polite interest as Alec retrieved his cup.  
  
“Well, as they say, if the boot fits,” Alec mused with a nod, looking up at Peter over the top of his readers while taking another long drink from his reward.  “That’s what the science says, but you’re the detective.  Any idea how this plonker pulled it off?  Or why?” he asked and Peter grew still.  “What is it?” Alec said with a frown.  
  
_No, it's a daft idea: he won't believe me,_ Peter thought wryly. _I'm not sure I believe it myself. And how much, exactly, should I share with Alec without Donna’s knowledge or consent?_ he wondered.  He trusted Alec implicitly and wanted to tell him everything, but this was Donna’s story to share or withhold, not his own, and she’d barely even met the man.  He’d literally just begun to seriously entertain this new possibility himself and he wasn’t comfortable discussing his suspicions with anyone else without talking to Donna first.  Looking back at Alec, however, Peter saw his hesitation was quickly becoming obvious and he knew he had to say something.  
  
“Let’s just say yer revelations support my suspicions, and leave it at that for now,” Peter replied finally but his words sounded feeble, even to his own ears.  Alec rubbed his chin and Peter was certain he was about to speak: instead, he merely shrugged and turned back to his computer, but Peter saw a slight stiffness in his posture and relented.  
  
“Alec, what do you know about Torchwood?” he ventured quietly, forcing himself to relax and observe the other man’s reaction.  
  
“Not much: just rumors, really, what everyone in law enforcement hears at some point in their career,” the lab tech said slowly as dawning realization warred with open disbelief for dominance in his expression.  “Weren’t they supposed to be some shadowy, quasi-governmental agency or something, tasked with national defense?”  
  
Peter nodded once.  ”Nothing else?" he asked, watching Alec closely.  
  
"Uhm, they were involved in that Canary Wharf incident a few years back, according to gossip, and as a result, they’re defunct now.  They were closed down, what?  Four, five years back ? They were said to be above the law, if you believe that sort of thing, and they were ruthless," Alec finished with a shrug. He paused to consider the implications then shook his head.  “You can’t possibly think Torchwood had anything to do with Donna’s break-in, can you?  I mean, they don’t exist anymore and anyway, it all sounds like a bit of tabloid press hyperbole, if you ask me,” Alec scoffed before looking back to Peter’s impassive face.  
  
“Oh, the stories don't begin to do Torchwood justice,” a voice said from the doorway and both Alec and Peter whipped about to see Ian leaning against the door frame.  “They were real.  They answered to no one and there was no way to trace them or hold them accountable for anything," he continued as he sauntered in. "You'd do well to give them a wide berth.”  
  
It was Alec who broke the silence that followed first.  “Ian, when did you develop a flair for the dramatic?  I never would have pegged you as one to go about lurking in doorways, looking for an opportunity to be mysterious.”  He leaned back in his chair, resting his cup on his stomach as he idly swiveled to and fro in his lab chair.  
  
“Sorry, didn’t mean to usurp your role in the department,” Ian shot back immediately.  “I just came looking for my partner.”  He took a drink from the cup in his hand and raised it slightly to Peter.  “Thanks, by the way.”  
  
He returned his attention to Alec and continued. “When I went in for my morning cup, Millie said the DI had already been in to pick up and when she told me what he'd ordered, I knew exactly where he'd gone.”  In response, Alec ran his finger around the inside rim of the lid lying on his desk, capturing the last of the caramel and sucking it from his fingers with an audible pop.  
  
“Get a room,” Ian said in mock-disgust.  Alec grinned and licked his lips lasciviously, eliciting a snort from Ian as Peter turned his attention back to the photo he held to hide a smile.  
  
“He does have a point, though, Ian,” Peter finally added, scratching his head and looking askance at his partner.  “More information from your unofficial channels, by chance?”  Ian shrugged as Peter persisted.  “Anythin' else yer connections have made known to ye that ye’re able to share?”  
  
“I know what you’re thinking, and I know what you must have heard,” he replied, “and given Donna’s condition, it’s a reasonable, if unlikely, assumption.”  He noticed Alec’s puzzled expression and confided, “The DI's heard the rumor that if you ran afoul of Torchwood, if you were lucky, you’d never remember it.”  He looked at Peter significantly as he continued.  "If you were unlucky, a memory of you was the only thing left to anyone who ever knew you.”  
  
“I think Donna’s lucky,” Peter stated bluntly and Alec just barely managed to hold back a quip in deference to his friend’s serious demeanor.  He sat for a quiet minute processing all the detectives had shared with him before making up his mind.  
  
“And you two think Donna somehow had a run-in with Torchwood, before they disappeared,” he stated slowly, processing the ramifications of what Peter was suggesting and Ian was at least deeming to be reasonable.  “You think they were responsible for her memory loss?”  
  
“I think it fits the pattern,” Peter replied with a slight nod before glancing to Ian who gestured dismissively, then inclined his head in grudging assent.  
  
“But they don’t exist anymore,” Alec countered.  “What can you do?”  
  
To both men’s surprise, Ian pulled a face and snorted once.  “What?  You think they just closed up shop and went home?  That just because the official organization was disbanded, the members, all those people with all those highly specialized skills, they were all just decommissioned?  That they’re all working for the Royal Mail now?”  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back slightly, looking down his nose at the Forensic Specialist.  “You really think Torchwood doesn’t exist anymore?  How naive are you?”  
  
Alec cocked his head slightly and stared at both men in turn before he spoke again.  “If what you're saying is true, all the more reason to avoid them, then,” he insisted.  He turned back to Peter.  “You know the rumors, the stories of people who had gotten mixed up with them, never to be seen or heard from again,” he continued with a skeptical quirk of an eyebrow.  
  
“I do,” Peter repeated, keeping his tone even although both men could see his hackles starting to rise in response to Alec’s line of questioning.  
  
“And they don’t exist anymore- publicly, that is, which makes them more dangerous still.  Yet you intend to investigate this further, am I right?” Alec persisted, pointing at Peter, who merely raised one eyebrow higher.  When he didn’t respond further, Alec changed course.  
  
“And you’re alright with this?” He glanced to Ian for support, but the Detective Sergeant merely folded an arm across his chest and sipped his coffee, watching the proceedings between the two men with interest.  
  
“What?  Ye think I shouldnae?  Ye’re alright with this situation?  Is this just the way the world works, then?” Peter said hotly, surprising both Alec and Ian with the sudden vehemence of his expression.  “This Torchwood- they think they’re above the law, that they can go about with impunity, doin’ as they please, leavin’ human wreckage by the wayside for someone else to clean up.”  He dropped the picture he held back in the folder and leaned against the table. “How would ye like to just wake up one mornin' and find someone had stolen two years of yer memories?  What would that do to ye, Alec?”  He cocked his head to the side, his expression growing darker.  
  
“And it’s not just Donna,” he hissed. “Think of it: how many people had they done this to for these rumors to start, and why?”  Peter pushed back from the table and turned away, running a hand though his hair in frustration before whipping back to face Alec.  “I’ll no stand for it.  It’s no right.  What could Donna possibly have known or done to justify what’s been done to her?  They **erased** two years of her life,” he finished quietly.  “How do ye just move on from somethin’ like that?”  
  
He looked up into Alec’s face at the shock and concern plainly visible there and glanced down at the folder lying between them.  He slowly picked it up before looking back to his friend.  “I’m sorry…that was…,’ he whispered as his fury drained away.  He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck and inhaled deeply, rubbing at this nose before he dropped his hand and straightened up.  “Thank ye for the report, Alec.  Ye didnae have to…” he began apologetically, backing away before the other man cut him off.  
  
“It’s nothing, Peter,” Alec replied reassuringly.  “And if there’s anything else you need, just say the word.”  
  
Peter nodded his thanks and made to leave, but Alec’s hand shot out and touched him briefly on the arm, bringing him up short.  
  
“But I’m serious, Peter: be careful.  These people, if they do, in fact, still exist..." He looked between Peter and Ian before sitting back in his chair. "If even half the stories of what they were capable of are just half true, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”  
  
Peter nodded his thanks, abashed at his outburst. "It's lucky I have you and Ian to back me up, then,” he replied with a fleeting smile of apology as he slowly headed out the door.  Almost as an afterthought, he turned back and added, “Oh, and Alec- save us a couple of seats at yer table, tonight, eh?”

 

 

**********

  
Ian allowed Peter exactly 15 minutes to stew before entering his office and taking his favourite chair, settling in and crossing an ankle over one knee.  The DI sat at his desk, elbows planted firmly on his desk and his hands steepled beneath his chin, staring off into space.  After a few long, silent minutes in which his partner merely glanced in his direction, Ian tried to rouse the other man into action.  
  
“There’s a rumor, a possible sighting of Tippett that came in we ought to investigate.  You ready to go?” he asked, watching him carefully.  
  
“Um-hmm,” Peter grunted, clearly not ready to leave his thoughts.  Ian marked time, tapping his fingers on his shoe, waiting for the silence to become too oppressive for Peter to maintain. He would, he quickly decided, have to wait far longer than he was prepared to do if he was counting on the DI to speak first.  
  
“You're going to investigate them anyway,” Ian stated, scratching at his ear, “despite all you’ve heard.  You’re going after Torchwood.”  He sniffed loudly and folded his arms, eyeing Peter dispassionately.  
  
“Yep,” Peter responded, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his belt-buckle.  He stared at the ceiling for a moment before abruptly inhaling deeply as though waking from a deep sleep, then running both of his hands through his hair.  He slumped against his desk, shoulders hunched and rolled his head around wearily to stare at Ian, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
  
"And nothing I say or do is going to dissuade you in the least," Ian added, staring unblinkingly across the desk.  
  
"Right again, DS Keating," Peter answered levelly. He stared at Ian in a silent contest of wills that neither man had any illusions as to which of them would win.  Still, Ian wasn’t one to just roll over so he glared at Peter as long as he could, determined to make him work for his victory.  
  
‘Alright then,” Ian finally said in capitulation.  “Let me see what I can find out.  Besides, my mum’s been after me for days, wanting to know how you and Donna are getting on.  With your permission, I’ll see what a little _Quid pro quo_ will get us.”  
  
Peter let out a snort of amusement and waved his assent to Ian.  A fleeting smile of triumph played about Ian’s lips before falling away as he became deadly serious.  
  
“Peter, I know you’re good, but be careful,” Ian warned.  “Watch your back.  Don't be alone.  Don't eat or drink anything by yourself.”  Peter pulled a faintly exasperated moue at the last statement, rolling his eyes and rubbing his nose, all of which he pointedly ignored. Ian leaned forward, bracing an elbow on his knee while he gestured with his free hand at his partner.  “And whatever you do, don't store your files on a networked computer.”  
  
“Yes, Mother,” Peter sang, smiling nonetheless at his partner’s concern.  “And I’ll make sure to look both ways before crossin’ the road, too.”  Ian smirked at him in return, recognizing the utter ludicrousness of their situation, yet seeing no other reasonable alternative.  A sudden impulse spurred him on.  
  
“And for God’s sake, Peter, _tell Donna_.  If she really is a victim of some…,” Ian shook his head in consternation before settling on his next words, “ _nefarious plot_ of Torchwood’s making, **she** needs to be on guard as well, and **she** needs to hear it from **you**.  I’m not saying to scare her, but make her aware of the situation.  Agreed?”  
  
Peter’s smile fell away and he grimly nodded his acceptance of his partner’s wisdom.  
  
Somewhat mollified now that Peter seemed to be responding in what he deemed an appropriate manner, Alec stood and clapped his hands together once, rubbing them vigorously together.  “Now, let’s get going.  We actually do have a job to do, one that pays us both.  Let’s track down this bastard before he harms anyone else, eh?”  He inclined his head in invitation as he stepped toward the door, opening it only when the DI started to stand.  
  
Peter hid a grateful smile as he followed his partner, swinging on his coat and letting it swirl around him in imitation of his thoughts.  His mind rebelled again at the absurdity of the hypothetical scenario he returned to time and again. _Donna Noble, secret agent, a personal assistant to some mysterious, Earth-saving consultant known as the Doctor? And now I’m suggesting adding Torchwood into the mix?  But then again_ , he reasoned, _I’d never have thought of Donna as being involved with UNIT if I hadn't seen her file with my own eyes._  
  
As he trailed Ian into the lift, he thought of the woman he'd come to know and love- smart, tenacious, vibrant and irrepressible when riled.  Compassionate to a fault and reckless in her pursuit of what she believed to be right, Peter could see how she might have found out something she shouldn't have. _What kind of situation did my evil twin expose her to that ultimately attracted the attention of Torchwood?_ he wondered.  
  
Whatever it was, there was one thing he was absolutely sure of: Dr. Smith's day of reckoning was fast approaching and if Peter Carlisle had anything to say about it, he would pay dearly for what his actions or inactions had done to Donna Noble.

**********

Friday, 15 June, 2012   6:45 PM  
  
"Where are they, then?" Detective Colin Dexter muttered petulantly into his pint. He didn't really care if the DI finally made an appearance or not, but every time the door to St. Stephens opened, Alice whipped her head about to see who’d entered and more than once, it had spoiled her aim. He slung his arm carelessly over the back of his chair and took a long drink, peering over the top of his glass at the packed tavern behind them.  
  
In his experience, St. Stephens was always busy on a Friday, but for some reason, the informal gathering of Met employees was especially well-attended this evening.  He glanced over to his partner who sat beside him, reclining slightly in his chair, silently watching the parade of patrons with a slightly melancholy expression.  If he hadn’t known better, he would suspect that DS Cave was deep in his cups, but the man had been nursing the same drink for almost an hour now, simply watching the comings and goings around him.  
  
“They'll be here,”  Alec Turner replied with quiet confidence as he swiveled his customary bar stool gently back and forth.  He smiled slightly as Alice's eyes flickered to the mirrored lager sign to the left of the dartboard that offered an oblique view of whomever had just entered the tavern. She was quite good and Alec was glad of her distraction- his team was down by more than twenty points and that never happened on the rare occasions Alice Newcomb joined them for Pub Night.  
  
"They might not show, you do realize. He was still at his desk when I came over.  Evidence points to a breakup, if you ask me," Alice pointed out reasonably as she stood with her hand on her hip in front of the dartboard. "He did throw a mardy on her after all.” She took aim and let fly with spectacular accuracy that made Alec wince internally and reflect on the unfairness of life.  She turned to find both Dexter and Hamish looking at her curiously and she folded her arms over her chest and glowered at the both of them while relinquishing her place at the board to Alec.  
  
"Why, Alice, are you taking sides in our little domestic dispute?” Alec teased as he took aim. “And all this time, I assumed you’d favor the DI, considering how much you seem to fancy him.” Alec’s dart landed with a satisfying ‘thunk’ and he turned to Alice with a smug grin.  “Double top."  Alice waved him away as she retrieved her drink, eyeing the door all the while.  The fact that she didn’t even bother to watch Alec's throws grated on Hamish’s last nerve as he chalked the score: he considered it a crime that Alice was so good and yet she was totally uninterested in the finer points of the game.  
  
"I'm merely pointing out the obvious," Alice retorted, shooting daggers at Alec as she turned back to see his grinning face.  "The DI was brutal with her: I’ve never seen him that angry. I could hear his tirade all the way from my desk, and Millie told me what happened in the coffee shop, told me what he’d said.  I swear, if any man spoke to me the way he did her?”  Alice threw her hair back over her shoulder with a disdainful toss of her head.  "It'd serve him right if she never spoke to him again.”  
  
"Well, I reckon we all know how you wagered this evening would go, but you’re wrong.  They’ll be here,” Alec declared, turning his attention back to the board. His second throw went a trifle wide of the mark, landing in the section below his first arrow and he frowned.  “ A shame we’re not playing Shanghai,” he said as he turned with a shrug to Hamish.  
  
“Oh, don’t you go feeling sorry for Donna, now,” the younger man said to Alice.  ”She held her own and landed her fair share of proverbial punches.”  Hamish stopped and visibly considered her words.  “But you do have a point.  I thought they’d patched it up, but now that you mention it, she did wait until he was gone to come back and see that bloke yesterday,” he mused, gazing thoughtfully away into the distance, oblivious to the fleeting disappointment that flashed across Alice’s face.  The forensic tech might have missed her expression, but his colleague did not.  Alec filed that bit of information away for future consideration and prepared for his last throw.  
  
“You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” sniffed Dexter from his seat.  “Discussing a colleague’s private life, giving a play by play as if it were a sporting event.”  He shot a look to where his partner, DS Cave sat impassively watching the pub around him, giving no indication that he'd even heard his partners subtle reprimand.  
  
“Well, they did air their dirty laundry out in public,” Alice declared defensively.  
  
"It was not in public, it was in the supposed privacy of an interrogation room,” Alec interrupted, pausing in mid-throw.  "A privacy you lot had the audacity to invade,” he lectured, waving his dart at each of them in turn.  
  
"I seem to recall you standing in that selfsame room even before I arrived, if you please,” Hamish countered, eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
"Well, at that point, the damage had already been done, and I had been invited over by the DS," he replied with an offhanded wave in Ian Keating’s direction.  “Now, the two of them will get here when they get here, so shut it, the lot of you, and play.”  
  
"You're awfully sure he's bringing her," Alice groused and when that comment failed to elicit a response, she rolled her eyes with a sour frown and abruptly turned to Hamish.  “What’s the score, then?” she demanded, much to his consternation.  
  
Alec shot furtive glances about the pub, taking note of the increased buzz of conversation in the room. Strangely, Alec noted, Caveman had stayed uncharacteristically silent and only sat watching during the previous exchange.  It wasn't uncommon for the DS to attend the Friday gathering at St. Stephens, but his demeanor was unprecedented. Usually, Caveman could be counted upon to be in the middle of the table commandeered by the Old Guard, telling vulgar jokes surrounded by raucous laughter, but tonight the man sat off with his partner, yet almost by himself, with a peculiar air of purpose about him.  
  
"Well, it’s getting a bit late and if you’d care to notice, they’re still not here," Hamish asserted as Alec stepped away and Ian sauntered over to take his turn at the board.  "I think that speaks volumes, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
"And that spectacularly obtuse observation is precisely why you're a forensic tech and not a detective," Ian crowed as he caught sight of a flash of red in the mirrored Tennent Lager sign opposite the front door. He let fly his dart, just barely missing a perfect bullseye and spun round with a hoot of triumph.  
  
Alec folded his arms over his chest and smiled knowingly at Alice as he caught a snatch of conversation from the couple entering the tavern.  “…more than anyone else who walks this Earth.  That’s fine, just fine,” Peter said teasingly to Donna as he opened the door to usher her inside.  
  
“Oh, no you don’t, Policeman,” Donna replied, turning back to land a gentle swat on his upper arm.  "Poutin' doesn't work on me!"  She swung around to soften the blow with a smile as she hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder.  “I told you, it’s a surprise.  That’s gonna have to be good enough for now.”  
  
“I’m a detective,” he reminded her, breaking out in an answering grin.  “I dinnae do surprises.  I cannae help it: it’s in my nature. I'll make it my mission to discover yer deep, dark secrets,"  His hand settled on the small of her back and he followed her inside, looking around with a nod of recognition as he caught Alec’s eye.  
  
“Give it a rest, Copper. You’re gonna have to just…,” Donna began, faltering when her gaze swept about the pub and she realized just how many pairs of eyes were turned in their direction at the same time a vague wave of unease swept over her.  Her immediate impulse was to bluster her way through the awkwardness with an indignant “Oi!", but she caught herself just in time and looked to Peter for support.  
  
Donna wasn't naïve: she had known in advance the level of interest the arrival of her Policeman and whomever accompanied him would likely generate and she was here at his request.  She knew enough of office politics to know that whatever she chose to do here in front of his colleagues would reflect on him, for good or for ill, and she was determined to present her Policeman in the best possible light, especially after the debacle her first appearance had been.  
  
She took a deep breath and glanced about the pub once more, looking for a friendly face on which to focus, someone she knew. As her heart rate slowed and she began to recover her footing, Donna saw only genuine curiosity on most of the faces turned their way, not hostility, and a few patrons looked absolutely gobsmacked.  She felt her lips quirk into a hesitant smile as Peter slipped his hand into hers and tugged her close.  
  
"We dinnae have to stay, Donna," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her ear. "A quick hello to Ian and Alec- maybe a peck on the cheek for young Hamish- and we can be on our merry way."  She had to stifle a nervous giggle when he smiled knowingly at her, waggling his eyebrows and squeezing her hand.  "The dictates of both the social contract and the wager only require that we make an appearance, not that we hang about with these nosy, intrusive gits.”  
  
Donna rolled her eyes- she had a feeling he would never let that remark go- but she smiled nonetheless. She squared her shoulders and cocked her head to the side, feigning a cheeky smirk for his benefit. "Don't be daft, Policeman," she admonished.  "We won't be rude to your colleagues. Besides, I want to put all those silly rumors you've told me firmly to bed, once and for all," she declared as she gripped his hand and began to stride into the room. She'd hardly taken a step before she heard him chuckle under his breath and she realized what she'd said.  
  
"Well, not like that!" she whispered back, aghast.  Peter grinned devilishly at her and she protested, "Oh, you know what I mean.”  
  
"Oh, no. No, no, no, no," he teased, pulling her towards the table where Ian and Alec were waiting. "That one ye dinnae get out of. I mean to hold ye to that statement later this evenin’."  
  
"Oh, get off," she muttered, trying fiercely to fight the flush she felt spreading across her cheeks before anyone else could notice.  
  
Peter's eyes darkened and he gently squeezed her hand again. "Ye might want to stop there for now, missy," he said, his voice low and husky.  "Ye're only making things worse- or better, dependin' upon where ye stand.”  She offered him a reluctant smile and then caught her lip between her teeth to stop herself from swatting him again.  
  
Donna felt as though they were under a microscope in the Met’s Crime Analysis Lab as they made their way across the pub. She idly wondered if St. Stephens were somehow bigger on the inside- the distance between the front door and the table they were headed towards seemed to have grown impossibly large since they'd entered. Roughly midway through the room, they passed a table of women - from years of experience, Donna had them immediately pegged as secretarial staff- and she heard one gasp in surprise.  
  
“Would you look at that?  The DI does know how to smile!” the woman whispered, a bit on the loud side, owing, no doubt, to the two empty glasses in front of her.  
  
“And he does own more than one pair of black trousers,” one of her companions murmured, subtly turning her head to watch as Peter manoeuvred them through the maze of tables and chairs.  Donna pretended not to have heard for Peter’s sake, but she slightly altered her course so as to block the other woman’s view of his denim-clad bum.  As she dropped behind him, he glanced back curiously, crooking his arm up behind his back so that he could still hold her hand and for the first time since they entered the pub, Donna's smile was absolutely genuine.  
  
Watching from his customary perch atop a commandeered bar stool, Alec had seen the mix of emotions play across Donna’s face as she and Peter snaked their way to the back of the pub and taking pity on her, he came to her rescue.  
  
“Well, now!  Hell is empty and all the devils are here!” he cried, leaping down and bowing low at their approach as Peter steered Donna towards the two empty places at the table Alec indicated with a sweep of his hand.  Alec pulled out a chair for her and she colored slightly as she took her seat, reaching for Peter's hand again as he sat down next to her.  “Donna, it’s nice to see you again,” he said politely.  
  
“And you, too, Alec,” she replied, returning Ian’s wave from where he stood at the dartboard.  "I’m afraid I didn’t properly thank you for comin’ ‘round the other day.” She held out a hand to him to shake and smiled her surprised approval when he brushed his lips against it instead.  
  
“Think nothing of it, it was my pleasure," he said gallantly as he released her hand. “And green is certainly your color, if I might be so bold.”  He gave her an appraising look and winked at Peter, then turned his attention back to Donna and quoted," 'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible.’ “  
  
Donna recognized a shameless flirt when she saw one and she countered with, “There is flattery in friendship,” much to Alec’s amusement.  When he turned back to Peter, though, all traces of humor vanished.  
  
"And you!  What took you so long?” Alec demanded, waggling an accusatory finger in his face. “Do you know just how many people I offended, saving your place here, when they were sure you weren’t going to show?”  
  
Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Donna was quicker.  “That’s all my fault,” she said, hastening to explain and Peter settled back in his chair to watch the charm offensive begin.  “I had a meetin' with my architect and it ran longer than I expected.  Peter waited for me in his office and when I finally arrived, instead of hurryin' along like he wanted, he humored me by puttin' on the change of clothes I’d brought him.”  
  
Alec glanced over at Peter’s ensemble and nodded his approval: the DI was still in his customary black coat with a recently-acquired pale yellow oxford and striped tie, but he’d traded his workaday trousers and plain black leather lace-ups for a worn but well-fitting pair of jeans and trainers.  “I just wanted him to be able to relax and not have to go out tonight in what he’d worn all day,” she added before cocking her head to the side and offering Alec a sly smile.  “So, are we forgiven?”  
  
“Oh, Donna, the moment he stepped into the Pub with you, your tardiness was excused,” he declared, mollified by her justification.  
  
"Thank you, Alec," she said sweetly with a tiny bob of her head as Ian stepped back to the table for a quick drink.  
  
“Is he like this all time?  Such hard work?” Donna muttered to Ian in an aside, hooking a thumb at Alec with a twinkle in her eye.  
  
"Not usually, no, but you are a new audience for him and I suppose he's keen to impress," Ian drawled, folding his arms over his chest with a smirk aimed directly at Alec.  
  
"Oohhh, bless," Donna commiserated, laying a consoling hand on Alec’s arm as he looked between his two antagonists, trying to work out precisely when he’d lost control of the conversation.  
  
Peter winked and raised an eyebrow smugly behind Donna's back with a look that said quite plainly _That’s ye, told, mate!_.  He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.  “Donna, what can I get for ye?“ he asked as he stood and pointed at the bar.  
  
“You know what I like, Policeman.  Surprise me,” she replied, and he nodded as he moved away.  
  
“Donae I always?” he said, walking backwards as he started out across the crowded room. “Anyone else?” he added, shrugging as they all waved him away.  
  
"I'm not saying I told you so, but I did," Alec stage-whispered in a teasing cadence, nudging Alice with a sharp elbow as she watched Donna and the DI together.  As Ian made his last throw, Alice stood up from the table and rolled her eyes again, deliberately ignoring Alec before moving over to the table of secretaries who pounced upon her, eager for details.  Hamish watched her go, then looked down into his pint.  He sighed in resignation as Ian claimed the seat she’d recently vacated and Alec could stand it no more.  
  
“Lad, our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt,” he recited loftily, giving Hamish a pointed look.  
  
“What?” the younger man said, looking up slowly, his thoughts elsewhere.  
  
“Translation: stop being a cowardly git and go talk to the girl,” Ian blurted out as he snagged his pint and grinned at Donna. Hamish gaped at him a moment, then looked to Donna who made encouraging little shooing motions with her hands.  
  
Dawning realization lit up his face as Hamish ambled over to where Alice sat and she looked up in surprise as he sat down next to her.  
  
“Got to admire your subtlety, there, Sunshine,” she mused, taking the opportunity to look about properly, now that she wasn’t being openly scrutinized like an exotic insect under a magnifying glass.  
  
Ian shrugged, then fixed her with a sincere and almost completely sober gaze.  “Nice of the two of you to finally join us,” he told her, watching his partner at the bar.  “It’s good for him to socialize, you know, but no one ever could get him to accept an invitation before.  We’d all just about given up on him, truth be told.”  He turned back and watched Donna for her reaction.  
  
“It’s nice to finally be here,” Donna admitted, scrutinizing Ian in turn.  She considered for a moment before venturing forth with a question she’d been itching to ask Peter.  “So, Ian, tell me why a nice-looking lad such as yourself is…,” but she trailed off as her gaze fell on the table behind him, and Ian nearly fell out of his chair as, without warning, she all but shouted, “Freddie!”  
  
Donna shot up and dashed behind him and as Ian looked over his shoulder, his eyes widened as he saw Donna hug someone like an old friend.  Moments later, his eyes threatened to pop clean out of his head when he recognized that someone as DS Caveman.  
  
“Freddie!” Donna cried again as she pulled back from the hug.  “If I’d known you were goin’ to be here, we would’ve arrived earlier!  How have you been?”  
  
“Donna, a pleasure to see you again,” DS Cave replied courteously as Donna kissed him on both cheeks. “No noticeable change in life as I know it, so I can’t complain.”  
  
Oblivious in her enthusiasm, Donna failed to see that once again, she'd become the main attraction in St. Stephens. Hearing her voice above the din of the crowd, Peter turned from the bar with drinks in hand to look for Donna.  When he found her, even from where he sat, Ian could see the DI's eyebrows threaten to disappear into his hairline. Peter shot a puzzled look at Ian who shrugged, mouthing _Freddie!?!_ across the room, as mystified by the interaction as everyone else.  
  
Donna and DS Cave chatted together amiably for a moment until he glanced up and saw Peter making his way back to Donna’s side.  DS Cave inclined his head in Peter's direction as he returned.  "I believe your date might want you back now, Donna," he said, smiling despite himself.  
  
She glanced up with a fond smiled, then turned back to DS Cave.  She hadn’t missed that he was sitting off by himself and an idea occurred to her.  ”Why not join us?" she offered, turning back just in time to see Peter's astonished expression.  
  
"Uhm, uh...sure," Peter stammered before recovering his composure. "Of course.  Pull up yer chair: we'll make room for ye," he said, managing to sound welcoming.  
  
DS Cave smiled knowingly and shook his head. "That's a kind offer, Donna, DI, but I think I'll visit with my mates a bit before going on my way.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Donna tried again, but Cave was adamant.  
  
“Maybe another time,” he said quietly as he stood to go.  
  
"It was nice to see you again, Freddie.  Are you here every week?” she asked, taking his hand.  
  
“Nearly,” he admitted.  “I usually drop in for a drink or two before heading home.”  
  
"Then I'll look forward to seeing you again,” Donna said with a fond squeeze of his hand and a quick kiss to his cheek.  The general hubbub of the pub dimmed slightly and as Peter’s eyes darted about, people looked quickly away and the chatter began again.  
  
“And I look forward to seeing you again, as well.  Have a good evening,” he replied rather formally, nodding to everyone as he moved away.  DS Cave looked almost bashful as he met Peter’s eyes and he smiled in awkward apology before turning on his heel and joining his usual group.  Donna watched him go for a moment, her thoughts her own.  She looked up to find both Peter and Ian watching her, and her lips quirked into a mischievous, almost-smile.  
  
“Oh, ta, Policeman,” Donna said, reaching for the glass Peter offered as she returned to his side.  She sat and took a long drink before putting the glass on the table and looking about, taking in her surroundings.  
  
Peter sat beside her expectantly, eyebrows slightly elevated, his tongue resting against his upper teeth as he waited for her to elucidate on what he and most of the other patrons of St. Stephens had witnessed.  When she didn’t voluntarily offer any explanation of what had just transpired, Peter leaned towards her and nudged her gently with his shoulder.  “How do ye know Caveman?” he casually asked.  
  
“Manfred,” she corrected automatically, with a dangerously arched brow of her own. Peter exchanged a curious look with Ian and Donna stared the pair of them down before relenting. "Oh, did I not tell you?” she said airily.  “He was my escort when I came to see Jack while you and Ian were up in Immingham yesterday mornin’.  I’d never met him before that, but we got to talkin’ and the two of us just seemed to click.”  
  
Peter took a sip before placing his glass on the table before him, so intent on how to frame his next statement that the taste of the ale didn’t even register.  “And what did ye talk of?” he asked slowly, knowing from experience what could be gleaned from a seemingly innocent chat.  
  
“Other than a polite inquiry as to how long I'd known you, not a word about us, so don’t you go gettin’ your knickers in a twist,” she retorted defensively.  “I’m not completely stupid.”  
  
“No thought was ever further from my mind,” he replied so quickly she knew it was true.  “So what did the two of ye speak about, then?”  He lifted his glass to drink, but as he did so, his eyes never left her face.  
  
Donna blinked for a split second- had she blundered somehow?  Were office politics different in a police station than they were elsewhere?  Had her innocent banter with DS Cave compromised Peter in some way?  She tried to cover her hesitation by toying with her glass as she considered how to reply.  
  
“It was only polite chit chat, Peter,” she said finally.  "He asked about my job, where I went to school, what books and movies I like, what my favorite programs are on the telly.  Just that sort of thing”  She looked wistful for a moment before admitting, “It was all a bit like talking with my dad, really.”  She looked over at him sharply as a thought occurred.  ”You're not angry, are you?” she demanded warily.  
  
“No, no, 'course no,“ he assured her.  “A wee bit jealous, perhaps, but no angry.”  
  
Donna rolled her eyes in disbelief, raising her hand to swat his shoulder and she smiled as he grasped it instead and brought it to his lips. She caught a fleeting look of envy from the women swimming about in the Secretarial Pool and again pretended to be oblivious.  Truth be told, if she were to be completely honest, she felt a tiny bit sorry for them, having to look at Peter Carlisle day-in and day-out as he went about his business, knowing he was going out with the likes of her and, given that, wondering why it wasn’t one of them.  It was a situation familiar to her from past experience and she still couldn't quite believe that she was in the envied category rather than the envying one for the first time in her life.  For his part, Peter was busy wondering what motive Caveman had in befriending Donna and if he had any cause for concern.  Their thoughts were interrupted by a cough from across the table.  
  
“Not to talk shop, Peter,” Ian said with a significant glance at Donna as he proceeded to do just that, “but what d’you think about trying to get to Tippet through the other drugs gangs in London?  They won’t like the competition.  Maybe we can play them against one other?” he speculated, warming to the possibilities as he spoke.  
  
Peter chewed his lip thoughtfully, intrigued despite himself.  He started to answer, then hesitated as his eyes flicked to the woman at his side.  Donna squeezed Peter’s hand and he turned to her, relaxing visibly when she gave him a wink.  He turned back to Ian and listened thoughtfully to his partner’s speculations as Donna nestled in beside him to let the sights and sounds of the pub wash over her.  
  
It was a lively house, and not just because it was filled tonight with off-duty officers.  Glancing about, she could see little knots of people talking, drinking and letting go of the cares of life; all the different players that made up the drama of pub life one would expect to see on a Friday evening, much like what she would have seen had they been at the George.  She sat back and made a game out of inferring life stories based on general appearance, sartorial choices and snatches of conversation, just as her Policeman had taught her.  Her eyes kept drifting over to a booth at the far side of the pub, all but hidden in the shadows of a burnt-out bulb, but every time she tried to focus on it, something would distract her and she’d look away.  She heard a young woman behind her speak and turned slightly to match the voice with a face.  
  
“Alec, I may be a bit dense, but I still don’t know what it is you do all day,” she said curiously and Donna wondered if the girl was old enough to legally have the drink sitting before her.  She was positive she wasn’t old enough to have even a provisional driving licence.  
  
“Maya, I am in blood,” Alec said darkly, enunciating the last word heavily for dramatic effect, “stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go over.”  
  
Without thinking, Donna responded automatically.  “Strange things I have in head, that will to hand, which must be acted ere they may be scanned,” she said quietly, to Alec’s delight and Peter’s surprise. When she looked up and saw the expression on Peter’s face, she realized her faux pas and apologized immediately.  
  
“Oh, Alec! I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!  I couldn’t help myself.  I didn't mean to interrupt: I was just a bit pleased that I recognized the quote,” she said, the words all but tumbling from her in a jumble.  She only relaxed when she saw the humor glowing in Alec’s eyes and the wonder in Peter’s.  She blushed slightly at that and waved him on with her hand.  "Go on, then.  Go on with your answer: what is it you do?”  He inclined his head gracefully in a seated bow and complied with her request.  
  
"As a Scenes of Crime Officer,” he explained to Maya pedantically, "my specialty is blood but- coming as I do from a tiny little hamlet where I basically **was** the Crime Lab- I've been known to dabble in other areas, while still remaining humble enough to defer to the expertise of others much more learned than I.  Truth be told,” he sniffed, “these days, a crime can’t be solved without the support of a SOCO and the Crime Analysis Lab.”  He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, preparing to respond to the expected admiring remarks before his ego was rudely deflated.  
  
“Ok, Copper, I get it now,” Donna blurted out without preamble, apropos to nothing Alec could detect.  As Ian and Peter both turned to her in confusion, she planted an elbow on the table and pointed a finger at Ian as she spoke.  
  
“See, when Peter first told me about all this wager nonsense, I wondered how a group who were ostensibly some of the smartest and most observant people on the planet could come to the conclusion that my Policeman here didn’t like women,” she explained.  “But now that I see Alec here in all his glory?”  She raised a dramatic eyebrow and started ticking off points on her fingers.  "Charming, cheeky, quotes Shakespeare at length, can give him a run for his money in the 'long-winded answers to simple questions’ department, and more than a bit fit,” she said, flicking up a finger with each example, grinning at Alec all the while.  "I can see how the rumors got started.”  She turned in her seat to see Peter gaping at her, gobsmacked and wide-eyed.  “Are you sure you wouldn't rather be goin' out with him instead of me?”  
  
"Charming? Cheeky?  Him?" Peter cried in disbelief, leaning forward and stabbing a finger at Alec as his voice crept up an octave.  He snorted, waving a hand between Donna and Alec as he flopped back into his chair.  "Pot, meet kettle!” He glared at her for the space of a heartbeat before she grinned, poking him in the ribs and his indignation melted away.  Peter looked to the heavens for guidance before giving in to the amused expression that crept across his face.  
  
Maya giggled in response and Alec shrugged good-naturedly, for his part more than a bit pleased with the turn of events.  He leaned across the table to playfully leer at Donna.  “Fancy a game of darts, Pot?” he asked.  
  
She looked to Peter who mock-sighed before shooing her away, and Alec was delighted when she announced, “You’re on, Kettle,” leaping to her feet and kissing Peter’s cheek before joining him at the dartboard.  
  
Peter returned to his discussion with Ian as they mapped out a possible strategy for finally apprehending Tippet in advance of the Olympics, but his eyes kept straying to Donna and Alec as they started tossing verbal barbs about along with their darts.  
  
“All right,” said Donna with her hand on her hip and her lips pursed in concentration.  “How 'bout this one?  'Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here’ “, she began as Alec stepped up to the board.  
  
“ 'And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood,’ “ he cried, cutting her off in his enthusiasm.  
  
"I should have known you’d know that one," Donna groused, good-naturedly and Alec bowed to her formally before throwing his dart.  “Point to you and your turn,” Donna laughed.  
  
“Fine,” said Alec as he pondered.  “ Let’s see if you can finish this one.  'Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, that my keen knife see not the wound it makes,’ “  
  
“I thought you were gonna give me a challenge!” she complained before completing the quote. “ 'Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, to cry 'Hold, hold!’ ‘“  Her dart hit the board with a satisfying thud and Alec smiled as she gave him a cheeky smirk in return.  
  
Peter sat back to observe the rest of their friendly battle, amazed.  She was magnificent, he decided, as he watched Donna and Alec dance, weave, parry and thrust verbally at each other.  Donna tossed her hair back over her shoulder bringing to mind a toreador's cape and she grew bolder with each round, grinning as Alec rushed forth meet her.  
  
"Oh, DI, where did you find this one?” Alec cried, spinning on his heel and spreading out his arms as he engulfed Donna in a huge hug.  She squeaked in surprise before hugging him back enthusiastically.  "I like her…" Peter chuckled as Donna waved at him, and he shrugged apologetically as he realized he’d been ignoring his partner for at least the last five minutes.  
  
Ian rolled his bottle back and forth between his hands for a moment as he considered Peter.  “When are you going to tell her?  About UNIT?  About Torchwood?" he demanded suddenly, fixing Peter with a steady eye.  
  
“This weekend,” Peter replied firmly, meeting Ian’s gaze.  “I want t’ wait ’til we have time t’ talk it through.  I want her t’ have time t’ process all the implications an’ I want t’ have time t’ respond t’ her inevitable questions.  
  
Ian was silent for a moment, processing Peter’s response.  Finally he nodded in Donna’s direction and quietly said, “Reasonable.  But make sure that you do.  Don’t leave anything out.  You tell her all of it, mind.”  He cocked his jaw to the side and looked above his partners head, his eyes unfocused as he fell silent and Peter knew he was remembering the cost of his own past omissions.  
  
"I will,” Peter promised.  "I want to.”  Ian nodded but said nothing.  After a long, uncomfortable silence, Peter asked him quietly, "And what of Maddie?  Have ye … have ye asked her to Pub Night?”  
  
"I will,” Ian echoed.  "I want to.”  Peter smiled and let the matter lie.  
  
Just then, DS Cave came over, offering his hand to Ian and Peter in turn as he prepared to leave for the night.  As he gripped Peter’s hand, he leaned in close.  “Better watch that one,” he warned, tapping the side of his nose and throwing a quick glance at Alec.  "He may not be as adverse to females as we thought.”  
  
Peter stammered his goodbye as he watched the DS take his leave. He sauntered away with a with a wink and a wave as he backed out of the door and disappeared into the night, his behavior giving Peter yet another thing to think about this evening.  
  
“ 'Come to my woman's breasts, and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,” he heard Donna say with a triumphant note in her voice.  She stood with her tongue caught between her teeth, her eyes flashing as she waited for Alec’s response.  
  
“ **Ahhhhh** , wait, wait, I know that, wait!” Alec cried, his hands threaded through his hair in frustration.  He spun around in irritation, his mouth desperately working, but no sound emerged.  
  
Donna giggled in delight before declaring, “ 'Wherever in your sightless substances….’ “  She trailed off expectantly and Alec straightened and stabbed his finger in her direction.  
  
“ 'You wait on nature's mischief!’ “ he groaned in resignation.  
  
“Nice recovery, Lab Boy,” Donna laughed, “but you still lost that one to me!”  
  
“Oh, I cocked up the quote, Donna,” Alec protested, “but not darts.  You’re behind, but you still have one throw left.  Let’s see how you do there before we start settling scores.”  
  
Donna giggled, dropping down into a mocking curtsey and Peter caught a glimpse of black lace as her blouse dipped low.  He took a long, thoughtful drink, licking his lips as he lowered his glass.  Donna looked up just then, catching Peter's eye and something in his smoldering expression made her breath hitch.  She shook herself mentally and turned back to the game, trying to clear her mind and focus on her aim.  
  
Just as she was preparing to let the dart fly, Donna was distracted by something moving in the corner of her eye.  She jerked her head around and found only the empty booth across the room but her aim was spoiled.  Her dart flew off course, bouncing off the wire frame and clattering to the floor.  A subtle wave of nausea hit her and she fought it down as she swept the room with her eyes, faltering as her gaze fell on that tiny empty table again, the booth that had stayed mysteriously unoccupied all evening, despite the crowds.  Every time she looked in that direction, she felt as if someone wasn’t just standing on her grave, they were doing the Tarantella inside her head.  
  
“Ha!  Alec cried triumphantly.  “I win!”  He started to pull a goofy face at Donna, but stopped short when he saw her properly.  
  
“Donna?  Is everything all right?” Alec asked, moving to cup her elbow and guide her to a chair.  Peter was up and at her side before they’d taken two steps and Donna shook them both off gently.  
  
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she lied with a smile.  “I just got a bit dizzy for a mo is all- drank too much and spun around too fast.  No need to fuss, gentlemen.”  
  
Peter nodded slowly, still watching her carefully, and Donna gave him a fond smile.  “Really.  I’m fine.”  
  
Alec watched their exchange before he declared, “In that case, I consider us tied, milady.  We’ll have to have a rematch.  Next week?” he offered and Donna nodded her agreement.  
  
“You won this week, fair and square, Alec,” she said, then tossed her hair back defiantly.  “But yeah- I’ll kick your arse right and proper next week, Ace.”  
  
“You’re on, Pot,” Alec smiled, bowing once more.  
  
“Quite right, Kettle,” she replied, letting Peter guide her back to the table.  
  
“Ye really alright?” he whispered in her ear as she sank into a chair and she nodded in return.  He watched her quietly until he saw her eyes and knew any obvious display of continued concern would earn him nothing more than a sound smack. He nodded and gave her a lopsided grin.  “Congratulations,” he said, as he sat back next to her.  
  
“For what?” she answered, puzzled.  " I lost.”  
  
“Only at darts,” he beamed at her.  "I’ve no seen anyone best Alec in a war o' words.  I’m suitably impressed.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you, of all people, are surprised that I’d read a Scottish murder mystery,” she teased, reaching up to brush his hair back out of his eyes. "It’s a good read, even if the subject is a bit harsh.”  
  
His lips quirked into a warm smile.  “Still, it’s an accomplishment.  Dinnae be humble 'bout it.  If ye’d lost, he’d never have let ye forget.”  
  
"Well, I’m just thankful that he didn’t go do King Lear,” she whispered, leaning in close to let her lips brush his ear.  "I haven’t worked my way through that one yet…”

 

 

 

 

**********

  
Friday, 15 June, 2012   10:10 PM  
  
“You can’t even walk a straight line, Policeman,” Donna guffawed as Peter stumbled over his feet on the damp sidewalk outside St. Stephens.  She turned her head and caught sight of Alec standing in the midst of a clump of people still inside the pub, laughing and bantering as cash changed hands and she smiled.  
  
“Och, I can, too, Missey! It’s slick an’ I slipped, is all,” he complained as she put an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.  He held his arm up in a vain attempt to shield them both from the gentle rain falling around them.  “But we’ve both indulged in drink a mite too much to be drivin’, especially in inclement weather.  We can take the Tube home if ye’ll come back with me t' get m' car in th’ mornin'?  What do ye say to that, m’ love?” Peter asked, smiling down at her.  
  
“You know I’d follow you, any time, any place, Policeman,” she said, looking up at him affectionately.  She loved the times he allowed himself to relax, to let go of his responsibilities for a while and just be himself.  He was either the biggest Larry Lightweight she’d ever known- which she knew wasn’t right, because in the space of four hours, he’d nursed just two pints along - or else he carefully rationed out those times when he felt it was socially acceptable to let others publicly get a glimpse of his daft, sentimental side.  What he did in private, however, she thought with a giddy grin… well, that was best left known only to the two of them.  
  
“We’d best hurry, then, an' get under cover 'fore we drown,” he said with a goofy grin as thunder rattled the windows around them and the rain began to come down in sheets.  Peter grabbed her hand and together, they took off running around the corner to Westminster station in the downpour, giggling and laughing madly as Peter pulled her along after him.  They were dashing down the rain-slicked sidewalk when it happened and Peter almost fell as Donna skidded to an abrupt stop in the middle of the pavement.  
  
It was back again: that feeling, that presence, and Donna knew there was someone or something there.  It made that spot just behind her eyes itch and she felt a voice in her head, sinuous and susurrant, whispering in a language she'd never heard aloud yet could almost comprehend, if she could just stop that bloody screaming coming from somewhere inside her skull.  She stared around wildly, her head jerking painfully from shadow to shadow, almost panicked, and she would have stayed there, oblivious to oncoming foot traffic, letting the cold rain drench her to the skin if Peter hadn’t swept her up bodily, pulling her to him under the shelter of a nearby vestibule.  
  
"What is it?” he said, suddenly sober.  “What’s wrong?  Tell me, Donna.”  
  
Donna was blinded by a shower of dancing lights behind her eyes, bright pinpricks of colours she couldn’t put a name to and deafened by the roar of her own blood in her ears.  Her heart fluttered erratically in her chest, her breath stuttered and caught in her throat, and she suddenly knew if she didn’t calm down and regain control of herself, soon, she would again suffer an unwanted visit from Paramedic Geoff.  Her eyes darted madly, unseeing, from the street, to the buildings and alleys around them and finally to Peter’s lips, moving soundlessly above her.  He framed her face with those long, slender fingers, tilting her face up to his and gradually, the swirling hues and tones coalesced into the features of the man she knew and loved: when Donna found his eyes- deep, dark chocolate eyes, full of concern- she fell gratefully into their depths and stilled in his arms.  
  
“What is it?” he repeated, frantically.  “Donna? Donna, tell me, love.” He relaxed slightly when her eyes stopped flitting about and settled on him, blinking rapidly as she began to breathe normally again. She shivered a moment and he pulled her close, feeling her heartbeat resonate against his chest.  
  
“Oh, Peter, I’m sorry,” she moaned, exhaling heavily against his skin and hugging him closer still.  “It’s just…  I’ve had the strangest feelin’, on and off, all night in the pub, like someone was watchin’ me.”  She sighed deeply, losing herself in the safety of his embrace.  “But he …he,” she stammered before she stopped herself.  She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly before sucking in a deep, calming breath.  She opened her eyes again and made a conscious effort to still her wildly beating heart.  “He couldn’t have been there, could he, that person who was in my flat?  Not with all those people around, right?  It’s just nerves, after what happened,” she said, rationalizing her fears away.  
  
“O’ ‘course. ‘Course that’s all it is,” Peter agreed, pressing his lips to her forehead and stroking her hair.  “There’s no one here.  It’s just the two o’ us: no one is watchin’ or followin’ now.”  He pulled back to smile down at her as she settled happily against him, but when he was certain she couldn’t see, he searched the darkness around them warily.  
  
Donna pulled back slightly, unsteady at first but with growing conviction. “You’re right.  I’m just being foolish.”  She stepped away and tugged him after her as she prepared to dash out into the rain for the stairs to the Tube station.  "Your place or mine, Policeman?” she queried, twisting her damp hair back into a ponytail. "I’m just off the line.”  
  
"Nah, we’ll go to mine,” he replied as they descended into the brightly lit space underground, his eyes darting around as he surreptitiously made note of every face they passed.  "I want to cook ye breakfast and I don’t yet know m' way around yer kitchen.  I’ll call for a cab to meet us at the station.”  He smiled, pushing his wet hair back and off his forehead as she nodded and snuggled closer to him.  Donna shivered slightly and Peter fished his mobile from the pocket before swinging his coat from his shoulders and draping it around her, tucking Donna under his arm as they made their way home together.

 

 

 

 

  
**********

  
The Doctor watched them head down the stairs before stepping from the shadows, still concealed behind the perception filter, observing from street level as Peter and Donna disappeared into Westminster station.  People streamed in and out of the station around him, but he was alone and unseen, a rock standing in the currents of a sea of strangers.  
  
The rain had lessened to a gentle drizzle and he stood in it, unconcerned as it dripped from his sodden fringe, lost in recollection, remembering the last time that he wore that face and held his best mate in his arms.  He frowned suddenly and worried his bottom lip between his teeth, looking down and away from where the retreating couple had disappeared, but he needn't have bothered: as no one could see him, there was no one from which to hide his distress.  
  
He abruptly drew himself up and swept his hair from his face before straightening his bow tie.  As he stalked away into the night, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his mobile, punching in a number as he went.  "Kate Lethbridge Stewart … Yes.  Yes, I want to thank you for following up with the … circumstances … surrounding Donna Noble, but your lot’s involvement with her is no longer necessary.”  He listened intently for a moment before cutting in.  "Yes.  Yes, I’m aware of her … companion,” he said, spitting out the last word distastefully.  "I appreciate your concern, Kate, but I assure you, I'm supervising the situation personally.  Thank you.”  
  
The Doctor disconnected the call and pushed the door to the TARDIS open before walking inside and closing it behind him.  He sighed heavily and leaned back against it, sourly considering the ceiling above, lost in thought for an eternity that lasted the length and breadth of an indrawn breath.  He looking back at the mobile phone in his hand and sighed heavily as he reluctantly dialed another number.  
  
“Jack,” he said with real enthusiasm, “Jack, how have you been?  Oh, nothing, really.  Just checking to see if you’re in before I pop over for a visit,” he explained awkwardly, wishing the man were a tiny bit less suspicious and quite a lot less observant.  
  
“Jack, I need to talk.  I have something of a proposition to put to you,” he continued, wincing when he realized what he’d said.  "Yes Jack, talk- just talk.  Enough with the innuendo,” he sighed.  "Don’t you ever give up?”

 

 

 

 

  
**********

  
**And because it’s been so long in coming, here’s a teaser for the next part, which is about halfway written.**  
  
The door to Peter's flat had no sooner closed than Donna had her arms up around his neck.  "Finally," she moaned, pressing herself to him, gently worrying his earlobe with her teeth. "I was starting to think I'd never get you alone and all to myself.”  
  
Startled, Peter went rigid in her arms for a split second before relaxing into her embrace.   "And why exactly were ye anxious to get me away from the company of others, missy?" he breathed into her ear as he leaned slightly into her, one hand inching up to tangle in her hair while the other pressed firmly into the small of her back, drawing her closer still.  
  
Smiling, Donna left a trail of nibbled love bites across his collarbone and up the side of his neck.  Peter drew a sharp breath when she found that certain spot just below his left ear and she took advantage of the distraction to grind her hips slowly into him. She could feel him harden and stir against her and his hands twitched reflexively on her back.  
  
"Ohhh, Policeman..." she groaned as his hands began to roam possessively. "The things I'm gonna do to you, you should be the one in protective custody…”

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Carlisle sat with his head thrown back against the glass of the train car, pretending to doze with his arm curled around Donna Noble, pulling her close. He needed this opportunity to collect his thoughts and to decide how best to broach the delicate subject he’d been avoiding all evening: longer than that, actually, if he were being completely honest with himself. No, tonight was the night: he no longer had any valid excuses for waiting.

**Friday, 15 June, 2012   11:20 PM**  
  
Peter Carlisle sat with his head thrown back against the glass of the train car, pretending to doze with his arm curled around Donna Noble, pulling her close.  He needed this opportunity to collect his thoughts and to decide how best to broach the delicate subject he’d been avoiding all evening: longer than that, actually, if he were being completely honest with himself.  No, tonight was the night: he no longer had any valid excuses for waiting.  
  
Donna was in danger every moment he hesitated, and he couldn’t go on with it any longer.  She had to know what he and Ian had come to suspect about the possible connection between her past, their mysterious intruder, and the feasibility of Torchwood's involvement in her missing time.  He silently resolved to procrastinate no longer. He would tell her everything, including sharing the picture from her past, the one that showed her in the arms of his vardøger, and he’d do it just as soon as they reached the privacy and, more importantly, the safety of his flat.  
  
He heard the announcement for Gunnersbury and his hold on Donna tightened instinctively, almost imperceptibly.  Yes, he would tell her everything tonight, but did tonight have to come so soon?  
  
“On your feet, Lover,” Donna murmured, and that, he thought with a smile, was a new addition to her repertoire.  “We’re almost home.”  
  
“Hmmm?” he mumbled, then cursed gently under his breath, leaning back to fish his mobile out of his jeans.  “Forgot to call th' cab.  Hold up a mo.”  He started to punch in the number when she laid a warm hand on his.  
  
“Nah, don’t bother,” she said quietly, her breath dancing over his ear.  “It’s close and the rain’s all but stopped. Walkin’, we’ll be there in five minutes.  It’ll be longer than that just waitin’ for a ride,” -  another good reason, he thought, for making the call.  “Besides, a brisk walk will help me to wake up,” she finished, standing up and stretching as the train arrived at the station. Looking down, Peter was treated to a show as Donna's blouse rode up, offering a display of black peekaboo lace wrapped around her torso. Peter sucked in his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth, caught between a need to get home as soon as possible and the desire to put off the looming discussion indefinitely.  
  
Donna caught his hand and dragged him to his feet, laughing as he purposely overbalanced and staggered slightly into her with a mischievous grin. Hand in hand, they exited the station and started out into the night, making their way towards Peter's flat. True to what Donna had said, the rain had stopped, but the winds blew large, heavy drops from the leaves overhead down upon them. Donna shivered and took off Peter’s coat, throwing it over his shoulders before tucking herself back under his arm and threading her fingers through his hand resting at her waist. Peter tried once again to prepare her, to steer the conversation towards the last thing he really wanted to talk about tonight, but he had made himself a promise.  
  
"Donna, I know it's nearly time for bed," he said, squeezing her hand and watching the ground pass beneath his feet, " but before we sleep, I wan’ ta..."  
  
"Who said anythin' 'bout sleepin', Policeman?" Donna teased, laughing as his eyes flicked up to the sky in amused exasperation then back down to automatically find hers again.  She looked at him quizzically, bumping her hip against his and wondering what had put a damper on his mood before she decided he was probably just tired.  
  
"Donna, really. There's somethin' I need to talk to ye about as soon as we get settled in for th' night," he said fighting to keep his tone light and even.  
  
Donna nodded and squeezed his hand reassuringly as they turned the corner and started towards Peter's flat. “Of course, love,” she replied, glancing back at his face, and something in his eyes gave her pause.  She sobered slightly as a tiny misgiving took root in her heart and she licked her lips and regarded him warily.  
  
Peter stopped and turned to face her, cupping her cheek in his hand.  His voice was warm but insistent as he told her, “It's alright, Donna, really, but it's import..aaaaahhh!” His statement ended in a gasp of shock as a fierce gust forced a frigid cascade of droplets and leaves down upon their heads and he and Donna darted for the lift, both giggling madly.  
  


**********

  
The door to Peter's flat had no sooner closed than Donna had her arms up and around his neck.  "Finally," she moaned, pressing herself to him, gently worrying his earlobe with her teeth. "I was startin' to think I'd never get you alone and all to myself."  
  
Peter went rigid in her arms for a split second, at war with what needed to be said and what he wanted to be doing.  He took a slow, controlled breath, trying to fight off the lingering effects of alcohol and clear his mind, but when she slipped her hands down the back of his jeans and let her fingertips just brush across the base of his spine, he closed his eyes and relaxed into her embrace.  "And why exactly were ye anxious t' get me away from the company of others, missy?" he breathed into her bright ginger curls as he leaned slightly into her, one hand inching up to tangle in her hair while the other pressed firmly into the small of her back, drawing her closer still.  
  
Smiling, Donna left a trail of nibbled love bites across his collarbone and up the side of his neck.  Peter drew a sharp breath when she found that certain spot just below his left ear and she took advantage of the distraction to grind her hips slowly into him.  She could feel him harden and stir against her, and his hands twitched reflexively on her back.  
  
"Ohhh, Policeman..." she groaned as those hands began to roam possessively, “the things I'm gonna do to you, you should be the one in protective custody.”  
  
"Am I t' understand that ye're solicitin' an officer of the law for favors of a sexual nature?" he asked, breath hitching as she rolled her hips against him once more.  His fingers trailed down the buttons on her blouse and he stifled his own moan as they slid undone at the slightest touch. Black lace that had been peeking out all night met his fingers and he grew harder in anticipation.  
  
"That's very perceptive of you, Policeman. Right in one," she nipped mischievously at the tip of his nose, pleased that Peter retained just enough presence of mind to be playful.  
  
"Are ye aware that behavior of that sort is not only frowned upon by the community but is, in point of fact, illegal?" he asked as he slid his left arm around her waist.  He gave her a slow, languid kiss, all lips and tongue and teeth before beginning an investigation of the skin beneath her chin.  Donna leaned back in his embrace to grant him better access and gasped when his right hand lightly traced a path between and beneath her breasts.  "Furthermore,  I myself would be guilty of dereliction of duty if I failed t' take you into immediate custody."  
  
Upset that Peter had enough breath to force out that statement, Donna resolved to correct that situation as soon as possible.  
  
"Oh, you talk big for a copper," she moaned as she let her hands drift slowly down his back, drawing lazy circles with her nails until she reached his waist. As she began to tug his shirt free of his jeans, she bucked hard against him and asked breathlessly,  "What's the charge,  Policeman?  Why are you arrestin' me?"  She slipped out of her shoes and slid them out of the way with one foot as she kissed him again, then slowly wrapped a leg around him, rubbing her bare foot against the back of his leg.  
  
"Committing an offense against public decency, for starters ... ," Peter said from behind gritted teeth as he reached up to peel back her shirt.  
  
Donna teasingly wriggled away from his grasp and pretended to rebutton her blouse.  She smiled at the frustrated growl that escaped from her lover as she took three steps back down the hallway toward his bedroom.  
  
"…pervertin' the course of justice," he continued, smiling darkly as he pursued her down the passage, matching her pace step for step. He reached out to stop her from fastening those irritating little buttons again and Donna giggled and danced back away from his grasp.  
Peter lunged at her and stopped her laughter with a bruising kiss. "And now ye've forced me t' add attempted evasion of lawful arrest t' the list of charges laid again ye," he breathed into her ear, easing her blouse down off her shoulders as they broke apart. She wriggled slightly, letting it drop to the floor at her feet and he inhaled sharply as he realized she'd worn his bodysuit in lieu of any other undergarments.  
  
"Oh, Peter," she moaned, "I'm falsely accused!  That's all..."  
  
"Ye can call me Detective Inspector, missy," he interrupted. He'd had enough teasing, he decided, seizing control of the game and setting about driving Donna mad.  "Ye know the routine: assume the position."  
  
Peter spun Donna around suddenly and pinned her to the wall with his hip, one leg thrust aggressively between hers. She gasped in stunned surprise as he forced her legs apart with his knee, reaching up to draw her arms together above her head.  He held them there with one hand, fumbling in his coat pocket with the other. Donna was breathing hard then, ragged stuttering breaths, and she turned her head, arching her back to watch him over her shoulder.  
  
Peter's eyes were dark and the hand that held both of hers fast trembled slightly with the effort to restrain himself. He searched Donna's eyes for permission while slowly raising the cuffs he'd retrieved from his pocket, giving her ample opportunity to refuse.  The desperate arousal in her eyes and a tiny nod that assured him that she wanted him to continue were all the encouragement he needed.  Using his weight and leverage, he pressed his long, lean form against her to keep her still while fastening the cuffs around her wrists, taking care not to lock them too tightly.  He gingerly traced the outline of the bracelets as she shifted her hands experimentally and, seeing her restrained, Peter faltered.  Looking down at her once more, breathing in shuddering gasps as he searched her eyes for one last verification of consent, gently stroking her cheek, he whispered apprehensively, “If… if ye wan’ me t’ stop...”  
  
“I don’t,” Donna groaned, twisting sinuously against him to make her point.  “I really, really don’t.”  
  
“But, if ye do, what will ye…?” he began.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, you’re a smart man,” she replied, cutting him off.  “You’ll have no trouble figurin’ out what I want.”  
  
He kissed her once again, hard, before dropping back into his role.  
  
"Eyes front and no trouble from ye, missy,” he commanded, biting gently into her neck.  She writhed between him and the wall, squirming desperately, wanting his lips on hers. "I said I'll no have any trouble from ye or I'll be addin' resistin’ arrest to the list," he warned as he took advantage of his height and pinned the cuffs high on the wall above.  
  
"But aren't you supposed to cuff me with my hands behind my back?" she gasped as he released one of the hooks holding the straps of the body suit she wore in place.  He kissed her neck, nipping lightly and flicking his tongue across each bite as he slid his free hand around to caress her breast, smiling when he found her nipple hard and pert in the sheer, lacy cup.  He all but grinned when she unconsciously moved against him as he gently lifted her breast free and ghosted his open palm across her nipple.  
  
"Oh, aye, but that would make proceedin’ with my interrogation rather awkward, yeah?" Peter responded in a low, dark tone that made her quiver.  She moaned and twisted in her prison, deliberately pushing her arse up against his growing erection as Peter shifted his position, switching hands on the cuffs to unfasten the remaining strap and release her other breast. Slowly caressing the length of her chest, he dragged the lace down to her hips, hindered by her waistband.  
  
Maintaining his grip on her restraints, Peter reached around Donna to impatiently pop the button and unzip her jeans.  He allowed her to draw her legs back under her long enough to shimmy her jeans down to her ankles and, when she stepped out of them, he kicked them away with an impatient sweep of his foot. Donna started to move back into position and spread her legs, but he pressed himself harder to her, growling in her ear to stop her movement.  
  
"No so fast, missy. This is a strip search,” Peter cautioned, trailing his hand lazily across her collarbone, barely brushing her breasts before continuing down her body.  He hooked his thumb into the only thing she was still wearing, the black lace bodysuit he’d given her to help protect her modesty, and he was instantly rewarded with a desperate whimper of arousal from her as he snatched the lacy garment down from her hips to the floor.  He noted the glistening crotch with satisfaction as he tossed it aside and murmured,  "Ye'll no be concealin’ anythin' from the eyes of the law this evenin'."  
  
Once more, Peter thrust his leg between hers, forcing her legs even wider apart. He reached down and grabbed her hip, pulling her back roughly so that Donna was left off-balance, hands restrained with her upper body pinned flat to the wall and her hips dragged back, her bum tipped up awkwardly giving him easy access to her sex. He leaned his body across her and sucked at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, fingers dancing lightly down and across her back before coming to rest on her right hip. Closing her eyes and resting her cheek against the wall, she stretched up on tip-toe and pressed her bum back against him, needing more contact.  
  
Peter gave a low, throaty chuckle in response.  "Have I no cautioned ye before, missy, no to go lookin' fer trouble?” he whispered as he stepped back just enough to lightly trace the contours of her bum.  Still holding her hands over her head, he pressed against her and she could feel his cock straining against her arse, hot and needy. Suddenly he shifted his weight and used his leg to lever her off the floor and further back onto him as Donna cried out in surprise.  He reached around to cup her breast, flicking her nipple, making her twist and moan in his arms while maintaining his hold on the handcuffs and the wall.  Donna's toes brushed the floor as she teetered on his leg and she cried out again when his hand dropped to lightly tease her clit.  
  
"Peter," she moaned, head thrown back on his shoulder, writhing and straining to stand. "Peter, please let me go.  Please let me touch you..." she begged with tears of frustration and desperate need beginning to form in her eyes.  
  
"That's Detective Inspector Carlisle, if ye please," he hissed as he licked her ear.  "And believe me, before this night is through, ye will please," he added with a feral grin as Donna arched back into him impatiently.  
  
"Remember, anythin’ you say durin’ interrogation may be given in evidence, so I'd advise ye t' choose yer words carefully," he cautioned as he lowered her slowly back down.  He slipped away as her feet again touched the floor but pulled her hips back into his desired position so that she had to lean forward against the wall to maintain her balance.  
  
"Now, missy, it’s time fer some answers,” he said, leaning over her, molding his body to hers as he slowly caressed her bum.  She gasped aloud as his hand drifted lower, her cry becoming a moan as he spread her folds and pressed a finger to her entrance.  Peter bit his lip and shifted his weight as he dipped his finger into the moisture he found there and started making slow, firm circles on her nub, coating it with her own juices, all the while yearning to replace his finger with his tongue.  
  
“Oh, DI,” Donna moaned, and her eyes went wide with surprise when he tapped her bum once, lightly, waggling his finger back and forth when she looked over her shoulder at him.  He cocked his head to the side, tongue pressed up against his teeth with eyebrows raised in question as he watched for her reaction.  
  
She couldn’t help but laugh.  “Detective Inspector Carlisle,” she corrected and his eyes shone with relieved amusement.  “What is it you want to know?"  
  
"I want t’ know, oh, so many things about ye, Ms. Noble…”  he sighed, then spun her around and pressed her back up against the wall.  He was quick to pin her hands again, but this time, just barely above her head so that he could lean down and nuzzle her bare breasts, licking delicately around one nipple while fondling its twin.  Donna moaned aloud, aroused beyond all endurance when she realized that, while she was bare and handcuffed, immobilized and helpless against Peter’s bedroom wall, the man himself still hadn’t even removed his coat.  
  
"D’ ye like this?” he asked, his voice shaky and a bit hesitant.  Roleplay was nothing new to them and they’d indulged each other’s fantasies before, but as they’d not discussed boundaries in this situation, he wanted her reassurance.  
  
“Oh, yessss,” she moaned, her breath hot and sibilant in his ear, and he released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.  Her lips chased his and he met her halfway, licking across her upper lip just as he slipped two fingers inside her and he swallowed her scream as she cried out.  He pumped in and out, slowly, painfully slowly, enjoying how her uneven breathing made her breasts heave against him.  He lifted his hand from her and waited until she opened her eyes to bring his fingers to his lips. Donna moaned again as he made a show of tasting her, his tongue darting out to lick every trace of her from his fingers.  Her legs trembled and her thighs ached with the effort to stay upright. Just as they threatened to give way beneath her, Peter swept her up in his arms and laid her back across his bed.  
  
Dazed and drowning in desire as he kissed his way down her body, she realized that he’d left her hands cuffed together but free of his grip for the first time.  The thought must have occurred to him at the same moment because, as Donna reached down and threaded her hands though his hair, he reversed his action, retracing the path of warm, wet, open-mouthed kisses back to her lips, catching her up in his arms.  Just as she was about to lower her arms around his neck, he pushed her gently back away from him and raised her cuffed hands up, catching them around the knob at the top corner of his headboard.  Peter briefly considered releasing one hand and re-cuffing her around the bottom of the post as she had once done to him, but he wasn't entirely sure he could pull it off in their current positions.  Instead, he pulled her back down under him on the bed, checking to make sure her hands were secure but that she wasn’t uncomfortable.  
  
“Does this excite ye?” he asked as he pressed himself against her and the desperate kiss she gave him in response held all the answer he required.  
  
“Is this what ye want?” he asked, his fingertips barely grazing the skin of her thighs as he caressed her and he could feel the heat of her flesh, flushed and trembling beneath his hand.  
  
“Yes,” she moaned instantly, then just as quickly added, “No.”  
  
His hand stilled on her leg and he looked deeply into her eyes, ready to release her if the game was over.  “Explain."  
  
“Yes, I… I want this,” she stammered, her heart in her throat.  “I want this because … the way you make me feel… and … I know you’re in charge and you’re doin’ what you want, and I trust you.  When you do this, I know you want me and it’s not just me wantin’ you…” her voice trailed away as a single tear slipped down her cheek and he leaned in to kiss it away.  
  
“Donna, you cannae possibly think I donae want ye, no after everythin’ we’ve been through?” he whispered mournfully, caressing her face, gently guiding her gaze up to meet his.  "Donna, I love…”  
  
“I know, Policeman,” she interjected.  "I know.  I know you love me.  I love you, too.  It’s just,” she gave him with a watery smile,  "well, old insecurities die hard.”  She shrugged and then gave him a rueful laugh when the handcuffs rattled against the bedpost above her.  
  
"Ye hear all that romantic nonsense all the time, people sayin' ' _I cannae live without ye_ ,' when we all know they can and do,” he said, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb.  "But Donna, here's the truth- I donae want t' live without ye. I love ye.”  Peter kissed her deeply, letting his hand steal up her thigh again before her remembered words stopped him once more.  “And no?”  He pulled back and waited for her response.  
  
“No,” Donna admitted, "because what I really want is to touch you.”  
  
Peter bit his lip and lifted his hand to her restraints, intending to raise them up and off the bedpost when Donna flinched away.  “Just what the hell do you think you're doin’ there, Copper?” she said, squinting at him suspiciously.  
  
A nonplussed “Uhm,” was all Peter could manage in reply.  
  
“Did I  **tell**  you to stop?” Donna persisted, arching one eyebrow in defiance, squaring her shoulders to magnificent effect, Peter thought, as her breasts bounced invitingly.  
  
“Uhm, no,” he admitted, sitting up on his heels, scratching the back of his neck.  He eyed her warily as he continued.  “Ye dinnae express that desire, no in so many words, but…”  
  
“Do I  **sound**  like I want you to stop?” she continued dangerously.  
  
“No, no really,” he drawled as a smile crept stealthily across his face and back into his voice, “but given the turn our activities have taken and the nature of our discussion, I naturally surmised…”  
  
“You surmised?” she said, cocking her head from side to side with each word.  "You. Surmised?  **You**.  **Surmised**.  Well, Sunshine, I hate to tell you this,” she said drily, “but you  **surmised**  wrong.  Now, get on with it.”  
  
Peter snickered and she laughed triumphantly, but the laughter died in her throat when he slipped his hand back between her legs.  
  
Donna twisted her hips, almost rising off the bed in her frustration as Peter began to stroke her swollen, aching folds, his thumb trailing across her clit teasingly as one finger dipped inside her.  When she moaned in response, he eased himself up off the bed to stand beside it, shrugging his coat off as he did.  Without looking, he threw it onto the chair in the corner, toeing off his trainers at the same time and she silently thanked whatever deity was in charge of footwear that he wasn’t wearing those silly hi-topped ones the hipsters seemed to favor.  He tossed his keys onto the bedside table, then let his hands drop to the button on his jeans. With a shock, Donna realized he was stripping off his clothes slowly, deliberately, and all for her benefit.  His eyes never left her face as he drank in her reaction.  It wasn’t what she’d consider a strip tease - he didn’t do that silly bump-and-grind routine she’d seen the boys at the cabaret do once at a Hen Party - but what he was doing made more than just her mouth water.  
  
Her eyes followed his hands as he removed his tie and let it fall to the floor.  He gave her a slow, knowing smile as he leaned over her and licked her breast, pulling it into his mouth, letting his tongue dance around it before moving away to gently blow over it. Her nipple hardened in response as the moisture evaporated on her breast and welled up between her thighs. Donna thrust her hips back down on his bed, pressing her legs together to try and relieve some of the building tension and Peter raised one eyebrow at her reaction.  He eased his pants down, freeing his erection and she moaned his name. When he settled between her thighs, wearing only his shirt, she cursed aloud as he let his cock brush against her core.  
  
Peter unbuttoned his shirt slowly as he asked, “An’ if ye could touch me, what would ye do?”  He stretched himself across her, barely hovering above as he kissed her lips, then disappeared as he made his way back down her body, inch by thorough, attentive inch, before burying his face between her legs.  Donna almost flew off the bed as he licked a long, slow trail from her entrance up to her clit and back again.  He pressed her back down and wrapped his lips around that tiny bundle of nerves at her centre, fluttering kisses there before delving deeper.  Donna moaned helplessly and squeezed her eyes shut, trembling as his tongue swept over her again and again.  
  
"You can’t possibly expect me to concentrate on speakin' when you’re doin’ that!” she cried.  He pushed her thighs farther apart and she writhed under the ministrations of his clever tongue, all but screaming his name again and again as he brought her just to the point of climax, teetering precariously on the edge, then drawing back.  
  
“Peter Carlisle, let me go this instant!” she finally howled, as the desire pooled low in her belly, threatening to overwhelm her and she could stand his teasing no more.  She twisted around to see if there was a way to unhook her hands so that she could lunge at him, fully intending to throw him to the floor and ride him to completion.  
  
“Are ye sure, Donna?” Peter asked, looking up at her, all wide-eyed innocence.  “ ‘Cos a sudden fancy has taken hold an' I’d planned on doin’ this for at least another…”  Fingers trailed back up her leg, tickling her thighs and she could contain herself no longer.  
  
"If you don't get these bloody things off me- **NOW** ,” she roared, bucking and pulling violently at her restraints, "the whole flippin' building’ is gonna know you're holdin' a woman in chains against her will, Sherlock!"  
  
He was grinning like a madman when he finally reached across her to retrieve his keys.  
  


**********

**Saturday, 16 June, 2012   7:20 AM**  
  
The morning sun danced across her eyelids and when Donna awoke she found herself nestled up against a lean, solid, deliciously warm chest.  She opened her eyes slowly and smiled. Peter was lying on his back, absently stroking her hair and staring out the open window with a wistful, faraway look in his eyes.  She stretched and yawned and, when Peter brushed a kiss to her forehead, she realized he’d probably been awake for at least a while before her. He looked down at her and smiled before he kissed her once, then twice, but it didn’t take long for Donna to notice that he was uncharacteristically quiet.  
  
"A penny for ‘em, Policeman,” she said, smiling lazily and stretching once more in his embrace before draping her arm across his chest and snuggling closer to him.  
  
“I’d be guilty of robbery if I charged ye that much,”  he said, smiling at her fondly as he combed her hair away from her eyes.  She continued to watch him expectantly and he relented.  “Just thinkin',” he finally told her pensively before placing a soft kiss on her shoulder.  
  
“About?" she persisted and he looked away, shaking his head with a tiny frown.  
  
“All right, then,” she teased with a playful toss of her head.   “Don't share your innermost thoughts and desires with the woman who loves you more than anyone else who walks this Earth.”  She reached out and traced the contours of his collarbone, tickling him as she did.  
  
He snorted once, amused, before he captured her fingers and brought them to his lips. "Nah, it's too early," he said quietly. "Later.  I'll tell ye later."  
  
"Now, Copper.  No time like the present!" she demanded with a grin, thinking he was contemplating plans for lunch or some other diversion for the day.  
  
He looked at her then, searching her face and gazing deeply into her eyes and Donna stilled. Peter was too quiet and too serious.   She realized she'd missed something in their exchange and she quickly added, "It's alright, Policeman. I was just playin’." Fearing she'd overstepped her bounds somewhere, she held her breath and waited for his reply.  
  
“I was just thinkin’,” he said slowly, wistfully, twisting a lock of her hair around his index finger and watching the light play across it. “I was thinkin’ back to dinner the other night, with yer mum and Wilf.  I was watchin’ ye, ye know, when ye held yer friend’s wee one.”  
  
Donna felt a rush of cold dread as she waited for Peter to continue, remembering the guilty fantasies she couldn’t control, the ones that popped unbidden into her head every time she saw children now, especially little boys.  
  
“Have ye ever given thought to bein’ a mother, Donna?” he began, stopping when she sat up abruptly, pulling the blankets around her as she did.  She closed her eyes, remembering how she’d felt as she’d pretended for a moment that the baby in her arms was hers.  Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see that longed-for child so clearly that she knew the exact shade of brown in his large, dark eyes. She could feel those tiny fingers wrapping around her own as she looked down and marveled at those miniature versions of his father’s long, gorgeous hands.  She opened her eyes and glanced back at Peter, ducking her head away to give her time to regain her composure.  
  
“Kinda puttin’ the cart before the horse, don’t cha’ think, Policeman?” she joked jauntily, tilting her head down and looking over at him through her fringe, but Peter knew it was forced. He heard the pain in her voice and realized belatedly he’d hit upon a sore spot.  
  
“Ye looked lovely that night, with the babe in yer arms,” he explained gently, laying a warm hand on her arm, trying to calm her, to tempt her back into his embrace.  “I just think ye’d make a wonderful mum is all.  Is that no what ye want?”  
  
"What, is that you offerin'?" she teased, not daring to look over her shoulder for his reaction and hurrying on before he could respond.  “I did think of adoption, but my mum … she talked me out of it.”  
  
“You donae want one of yer own?” he asked, confused.  He thought back to the night in the restaurant and the look on Donna’s face as she’d held the baby in her arms.  At that moment, Peter could have sworn he saw into the future, their future together, a future filled with love and hope and family, a future that he’d been looking for his whole life.  
  
"By myself?  No, I wouldn’t do that,” she stated flatly, shaking her head and dragging Peter back from his reverie.  She hugged her knees, still facing away from him and continued.  “I did think about it, long and hard and, at one time, I seriously considered it.  But no.”  She looked up and spoke to the ceiling in an attempt to stay calm and reasonable.  “I see Nerys with the twins and they’re lovely, just really, really lovely.  I think how wonderful it would be, havin’ a baby like that, some tiny little life to love and protect, to watch them grow and explore and learn, become their own person, strong and smart and beautiful…” her voice trailed off but not before Peter caught the tiny quaver at the end.  She straightened and inhaled deeply before turning to face him, dry-eyed and determined.  
  
“But then I see how unstable everythin’ is, what with Nerys always datin’ and all, and I don’t want that,” she said with a definitive nod.  “The only thing that makes it possible for them is her mum: she steps in and helps out.  She’s always there if one of the twins gets sick or Nerys has to work and can’t pick them up or make it to some school function.  Nerys has her mum's love and support and that's what makes it work.”  
  
She smiled without realizing it, thinking fondly of Nerys’ mother, remembering how hard she had tried to be everything she could be to her daughter after Nerys’ father had abandoned them.  Nerys never spoke of it, ever, no matter how many times Donna had tried to get her to talk about how she felt growing up, but Donna had seen what the loss of her father had done to the girl Nerys had been and she witnessed the wound that betrayal had left fester and grow, impacting the woman that Nerys had become.  
  
“For all her failings, Nerys loves her girls.  She wants somethin’ better for them.  She’s a good mum,” Donna asserted, turning and fixing Peter with a challenging stare, almost daring him to disagree.  When he didn’t rise to the bait and merely sat patiently waiting, she deflated slightly before resuming her explanation.  
  
“When I brought up the idea with my mum, she … well, it’s just different, isn’t it?  She’s busy with her own life, especially since Dad passed,” she said with a resigned shrug.  “And I know I could hire help, get a nanny and all, but it’s not the same, is it?  I don’t want my children to ever think I had to pay someone to love them.”  Donna sat, absently tracing the subtle pattern in the sheet covering her knee with her finger as she spoke.  “I’ve seen it before. The children, they get attached and then, when the caregiver has to move on?  That’s hard.”  
  
She quieted, clasping her arms around her legs and letting her hair fall down across her face like a veil, hiding her expression from her lover.  ”It’s not like havin’ people who love you takin’ care of you.  I know some can do it, and there are plenty of strong families with just one parent, but if you have a choice, I … I thought it was selfish of me, in the end.  It’s best, I think, when children have two people acting as parents.”  
  
“I agree,” Peter said as he reached out to move her hair back over her shoulder.   “Children need a stable, lovin' home.  They need t’ know they’re wanted and loved.”  He entwined his fingers with hers and squeezed gently.  “Everyone does, actually, but children especially.”  
  
Stunned, her mind racing with all the implications his simple statement might contain, Donna didn't respond for a long moment that felt like an eternity to Peter.  “Why do you ask, Policeman?” she finally said, almost casually, continuing to stare at her knees.  He heard all the questions she really wanted to give voice to but couldn’t, and he cocked his head to the side and watched her as he considered how best to reply.  
  
“I think it’s important that we both know what each of us wants,” he said simply, earning a small victory as Donna shifted slightly closer, turning towards him to search his face as he spoke.  “I’m endeavorin’ t’ apply practices I’ve determined are beneficial in my professional life t’ my personal relationships. It’s best t’ gather as many of the facts as possible concernin’ a given situation and actively seek out the opinions of yer partner, rather than jumpin’ t’ conclusions and makin’ false assumptions.”  He paused for a moment to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck before continuing.  “I’m convinced if I can just consistently apply this one procedure, it will be as productive personally as I’ve found it t’ be professionally.”  
  
As Peter spoke, he watched the tension subtly drain from Donna’s frame and her face relax into a contemplative expression.  She chewed her lip, struggling to formulate her response and he disciplined himself not to simply blurt out everything he wanted to say, to overwhelm her, to sweep her off her feet with pretty words she wanted to hear and, in the end, make her question his sincerity.  He had learned a few things in Blackpool, after all.  
  
“Consistency is key, I would think, from both parties,” Donna said slowly, “if it’s a relationship that’s goin’ to work, that is.”  
  
At her words, Peter lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across the back.  “Aye, consistency is key,” he repeated before a shadow passed over his eyes.  “I’ve learned much in my professional life of late that I wish I’d been able t' apply t' my personal life before now.  It would’ve saved me a world of hurt in the past if I’d only…”  
  
Donna’s heart ached at the desolation she’d heard echo in his voice and she grasped his hand tighter. Peter recovered quickly, shrugging off regrets from long-ago and offering her a smile.  “I’m still strugglin’ with it, mind," he confessed.  "At times, my temper does tend t’ get the better of me still.”  
  
Donna smiled back and nodded. "I think we've already established that's an issue for both of us."  
  
He waited, trying to give Donna time to elaborate but she showed no inclination to do so. Just when the silence between them was becoming obvious, Peter broke the tension.  “I’m fairly certain I exceeded my fifty word allotment just now, if I’m not badly mistaken,” he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  
  
Peter earned himself a sound smack to the shoulder that time along with a chuckle of disbelief.  “You. Are. Bonkers,” Donna declared with a sigh, rolling her eyes in exasperation.  It was worth it, he decided, when she snuggled back against him and grasped his hand again.  
  
Relieved that Donna had returned to his arms, Peter rearranged the blankets around them and relaxed back into the warmth of their shared bed.  He’d given her enough to think about and process and he was reasonably sure that she’d want to continue the conversation later.  Before he was prepared to let the topic drop completely, though, there was one more thing he wanted to say.  
  
“In the interests of full disclosure, I think it only fair to tell ye that I want children,” he admitted quietly.  “I think I’d like two, a boy and a girl,” he added with a decisive nod. He watched Donna’s eyes widen and hastened to add, “But that’s somethin’ I’d have to discuss with their mum, of course.”  
  
"Two?" she drawled, squinting at him suspiciously.  
  
"Two," he confirmed, wondering at her tone.  
  
"And just when were you plannin' on increasin' the world's population by two more Scots?" she inquired dramatically, tossing her hair to the side and fixing him with a speculative eye.  
  
"Half Scots," he corrected automatically, "and in about, say, a year?"  He shrugged before looking down at her. "If all goes accordin' to plan, that is, and if their mum agrees, of course.  We still have a lot to talk about, their mum and me, and I donae want t' rush into anythin', but I must admit, it's a notion I find myself entertainin' more and more frequently these days."  
  
Donna started to speak, then suddenly snapped her mouth shut. If he was saying what she was pretty sure he was saying, then it was a good thing she'd already started the renovations to the second floor of her flat. When she could finally formulate a coherent sentence, she looked up at Peter and smiled. "Talkin'. Talkin' is good. Talkin' is a beginnin'."  She reached up and grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down to her for a giddy kiss. "Policeman," she breathed as she watched Peter’s face break into the totally daft grin Donna loved so well, complete with the tiny lines around his eyes, "talkin' is absolutely bloody brilliant."  
  
He kissed her again before hugging her tightly to his chest. He pulled away to look into her eyes and his smile dimmed somewhat as he glanced down for a moment to gather his courage before looking back at the woman he loved.  
  
“Donna, again, in the interests of full disclosure, there's somethin’ I have t' tell ye, and one more thing I need t' show ye,” he said guiltily, recalling with some reluctance the image of the woman in his arms embracing the Other Man.  “It’s somethin’ Ian and I have begun t' suspect, and it may account for what’s happened t' ye; that and one more picture I found in the course of my investigation.”  He looked away, ashamed.  "I should’ve shared it with ye earlier,” he stammered, "but I dinnae want to, not in front of anyone else, at any rate.  I wanted t' wait til we were alone t' have this discussion and..."  
  
“Can it wait 'til after breakfast?” she whispered, tracing a tantalizing path down his chest with a fingertip, her gentle smile full of promise.  
  
He grinned suddenly and reached for her.  “Aye,” he agreed happily, “it can wait just that long…"


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A youthful man with ancient eyes sat at a table outside a small cafe just off the Piazza San Marco, taking an experimental sip of his cappuccino before sighing with the resigned air of someone who didn't really want to be where he was but couldn't come up with somewhere better to be. Has it really been almost three years since I last had a perfect cup of coffee? he silently wondered.

**Saturday, June 16, 2012  9:30 AM, CEST**  
  
A youthful man with ancient eyes sat at a table outside a small cafe just off the Piazza San Marco, taking an experimental sip of his cappuccino before sighing with the resigned air of someone who didn't really want to be where he was but couldn't come up with somewhere better to be. _Has it really been almost three years since I last had a perfect cup of coffee?_  he silently wondered as he stared unseeing into the distance. Coming back to himself, he stirred in a bit of the espresso he'd learned to order 'for a friend' since he'd been in Venice.  Every time he ordered and they heard what they assumed to be an American accent, they'd automatically add too much milk and sometimes, they'd even had the audacity to toss in a sprinkle of sugar. As he took another sip, a slight breeze stirred the air, disturbing the pigeons that fluttered around the growing throng of early-morning tourists, and a strange metallic groan echoed off the walls of the basilica. If Captain Jack Harkness took notice of it, he gave no sign.  
  
Deliberately keeping his gaze focused on the cup in his hand, Jack looked up only when a pair of dark brown boots stepped directly into his line of sight.  His eyes slowly made their way up the body attached to the feet contained therein; it was a bit bow-legged, and not as wiry as the last time, but still slim.  His visitor seemed to be slightly uncomfortable in his skin and somehow unable to stand completely still, shifting his weight from foot to foot, swaying slightly as if standing in a strong breeze.  Jack took in the attire, thinking that perhaps the man before him had just come from an adventure in the early Twentieth Century, based on his current wardrobe.  Even the hair fit the era, with that silly sweep of fringe, but then again, neither of the Doctors he had known had ever bothered to dress to fit the times.  
  
The Doctor fidgeted slightly under Jack’s gaze, clenching and unclenching his fists as he waited for the former Time Agent to speak first.  For his part, Jack frowned a bit as he appraised the man who stood before him, unsure of his initial assumption.   _Inside this gawky, awkward body, could there really beat the hearts of a Time Lord?_   he thought pensively, but when he looked into the eyes, there was no doubt.  Those were eyes that had witnessed galaxies flash into and out of existence as entire races fought and died.  Those were eyes that carried the weight of loss in their depths.  Somehow, no matter which face they graced, regardless of whether the colour was pale and bright or dark and deep, the sorrow buried within those eyes remained the same.  
  
"Ah, Venice! I was here with some friends not too long ago,” the Doctor said finally, spreading his hands wide before clapping them in front of him and rubbing them together vigorously.  “Well, not long ago for me, at any rate, but about 200 years ago, local time, give or take..." he trailed off when he realized his rambling observations were failing to elicit any sort of response from the man seated before him.  He pursed his lips tightly, straightening his bow tie with a nervous tug and looked askance at Jack before growing silent and still.  
  
Jack stared at the gangling collection of limbs before him for another moment before he relented.  ”Doctor," he said evenly, indicating the empty seat at the table with a slight incline of his head.  
  
"Captain," the other man replied with a tight nod while smoothing out his waistcoat.  "May I?"  
  
Jack shrugged nonchalantly as the Doctor pulled the chair out and sat primly across from him, crossing his long legs and all but folding in on himself with his hands clasped loosely in his lap.  Jack watched with interest before he leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest, all the while fixing a skeptical eye on the Doctor.  “Long time, no see,” Jack growled sarcastically.  “You’ve changed - again.”  
  
“Yes,” the Doctor replied matter-of-factly, but without further comment.  Jack leaned in with his elbows on the table and peered closer at his new old friend.  
  
“You know, I knew when I saw you at that bar, it would be the last time I saw  **that**  you,” Jack admitted before he looked down and away.  He paused for a moment, remembering the mad shock of hair and the swirling brown hero coat he'd seen across the room in that godforsaken space station dive.  He knew the man across from him held those same memories, but where his last Doctor had all but buzzed with manic energy, the man across from him radiated an eerie, deceptive calm- the Eye of the Oncoming Storm- and Jack knew right then which one he preferred.  He bowed his head in silent farewell, then fixed a jaunty smile in place.  “Must have been quite a feat to find me in my personal timeline at just the right moment,” he mused, watching for any reaction from the Time Lord.  “Thanks for that, by the way.  Oh, and for Alonso, too,” he added with a smirk.  
  
“Think nothing of it,” the Doctor drawled with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Under the circumstances, it was the least I could do.”  
  
As the silence fell between them again, Jack took the opportunity to eye him appraisingly before he lurched forward, leaning on one elbow and pointing at the Doctor’s chest.  “Seriously, you go about dressed like that now? Tweed?  A bow tie?” he blurted out in disbelief.  He sat back again, his lip curled in distaste with a tiny shake of his head.  “The braces are a nice touch, though,” he admitted, before adding, “even if they are clip-ons.”  
  
“Jack - ” the Doctor began quietly, but the Captain wasn’t finished.  
  
“Don't know why that surprises me: you never could commit to anything,” he huffed under his breath before giving a philosophical shrug.  “Still, the overall effect…” he went on, ignoring the other man’s growing exasperation.  
  
“Jack - ”  
  
“So, the Daleks, when they see this you coming- do they point and laugh, or is it more of a stunned silence, ‘cos I figure that might have its advantages, now that I think…”  
  
“Jack, I’m sorry,” the Doctor said quietly, but the Time Agent wasn’t through yet.  
  
“How many years has it been for you, by the way?” he asked indignantly, looking down his nose.  “What?  I’m supposed to believe that you were just in the neighborhood and thought you’d pop in for a coffee?”  
  
“Enough, Jack,” the Doctor said tightly.  “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”  
  
Jack’s jaw clenched suddenly and he drew in a deep, angry breath before sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. His initial fury had passed, but never having met this Doctor before, he was unsure of what to make of his old new friend, even though there was no mistaking the other man’s unease.  “So what did you come for, Doctor?” Jack finally spat.  “I know this isn’t a social call.”  
  
The Doctor waited, his brow creased in concentration before apparently coming to a decision.  He smiled, leaning forward and said, “Jack, I find myself in a rather awkward predicament and, as I was puzzling it out, I thought, who better to help me resolve a problematic issue than my old friend, Captain Jack Harkness?”  He spread his hands wide, nodding his head in self-congratulation, as if that gesture would answer everything.  
  
“ **Old**?” Jack finally retorted with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Merely a figure of speech,” the Doctor amended with an apologetic tilt of his head, "meant to convey the breadth and depth of our ..."  
  
"Relationship?" Jack supplied helpfully.  
  
“Friendship,” the Doctor finished with a sad, hopeful smile and Jack backed down, but only slightly.  
  
“So, running again, Doctor?” he asked without rancor.  “What did you do this time?”  
  
Neatly sidestepping the question, the Doctor looked around and asked, “Why are we here, Jack?  Why not simply meet in Cardiff?  Not that Venice isn’t lovely, though this isn’t the best season for a visit - too many tourists,” he said, looking around with a confidential air.  “This place is going to be overrun with them in the next hour, you mark my words.”  He returned his attention to Jack without warning, his entire demeanor stilling abruptly.  “You’ve forced me to make a separate refueling stop now. I was hoping to top off the old girl whilst visiting with you.”  
  
“Your information is out of date, Doc,” Jack said lightly as he took a sip of his cooling cappuccino and his face became hard and unyielding. “I don't operate out of Cardiff anymore.”  
  
“I?” the Doctor repeated quietly.  “What's happened, Jack? Where's the rest of your team?  Torchwood Three?"  
  
“No,” Jack said dryly.  “You’re getting careless in your old age.  What’s happened to you that you didn't do your homework before you came to visit?” he sniped before scrubbing his face with his hand wearily.  “There is no Torchwood, Doctor, not as you knew it anyway.  I’m on my own.”  He watched as realization dawned on the other man’s face before adding, “We really could've used you then, you know.”  
  
“And where were you during return of Gallifrey?” the Doctor snarled suddenly, unfolding with unexpected fluid grace to lean menacingly across the table.  “You're not entirely human- you weren't affected by the Mast-“  
  
“Touché,” Jack interrupted as a peace offering, “but without my vortex manipulator, that was over before I had a chance to even get there.”  
  
Both men sat back wearily, warily eyeing one another in a silent contest of wills.  Jack was astonished when the Doctor broke first.  
  
“I… I can't be everywhere at once, Jack,” the Doctor began hesitantly, collapsing back into his earlier position.  “I... I saw the timelines. It was a fixed point.  I wasn't supposed to be …"  
  
“I could have used you,” Jack whispered and the Doctor looked up into haunted eyes.  “Children, Doctor. They were just children, and I ... I had to …”  He broke off, watching a young boy standing in the middle of the square with his family, feeding the pigeons and laughing as they landed on his outstretched arms.  His lips twitched once before his face smoothed out and became blank as he turned back to the alien that shared his table.  
  
“I am sorry, Jack.  I sympathize,” the Doctor whispered.  Jack flicked his eyes up for a moment, then looked down at the cup in his hand as the Time Lord continued.  “I do.”  
  
When Jack continued to stare down into his empty cup, the Doctor added, “If it makes any difference, the aliens you knew as the 456…they won't be back.  Ever.”  Jack jerked his gaze up just in time to see the shadow of a storm cloud settle in the Doctor’s eyes before it quickly evaporated.  “I made certain of that,” he admitted, pursing his lips and looking away.  He tilted his head to the side and watched Jack contemplate just what exactly that might mean before venturing, “Gwen Cooper and that snappy fellow in the suit?  What was his name?  Where are they?”  
  
“Gwen is with Rhys and the baby,” Jack replied mechanically.  He hesitated before adding, “Ianto is … gone.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” the Doctor finally said, his hand twitching indecisively in his lap.  “I’m so, so sorry.”  He stared at Jack mournfully and Jack reflected on how odd it was to hear those familiar words coming out of that unfamiliar face.  The silence that followed was deafening.  
  
With effort, Jack pulled himself back together, pushing away from the table and looking around suddenly.  “I can't help noticing that you’re being very careful with your current companions, Doc,” Jack said with forced heartiness.  “What’s wrong?  You don’t trust me with them?”  he added with a teasing leer, but the humor vanished as the Doctor flinched almost imperceptibly, with only a slight tightening of his shoulders remaining to betray him.  
  
“I’m traveling light these days,” he replied at last, his hand finally escaping its twin in his lap to flutter in the air and brush away the concern on Jack’s face.  “It’s better that way, you know, without anyone slowing me down, asking silly questions all the time.”  He pushed his hair back out of his eyes before picking an imaginary mote of dust off his pants and flicking it away, then smiled.  Jack didn’t believe him for a moment.  
  
“Where is Donna?” Jack demanded, studying the Doctor intently.  “I thought, after all that had happened on the Dalek Crucible, that you three would…”  He trailed off as a shadow of gut-wrenching pain flickered in the other man’s eyes before the curtain of guilt and denial closed the Doctor off again.  “What happened to Donna? And the other you, the half-human you, where is he?”  Jack persisted suspiciously.  When the Doctor didn’t respond, Jack changed course.  “Doctor, how long has it been for you since you last saw me?”  Being alone for Jack was nothing new, but he’d never seen the Doctor before without a companion close behind.  
  
The Doctor reached into his pocket and drew out his sonic screwdriver, peering at it closely as he fidgeted with the settings.  “They're not here. They…neither of them travel with me any longer,” he finally confessed, studiously avoiding Jack's gaze.  
  
“Why?” Jack asked bluntly.  
  
The Doctor lowered the sonic and turned it over and over in his hand.  “After you left, I took Rose back to her life, with her mum.  They had built a life there in that parallel world and the Metacrisis-“  
  
“The half-human you?” Jack interrupted.  The Doctor shot him a dark look of warning and Jack took the hint.  
  
“The Metacrisis … Doctor stayed behind with her there,” he admitted softly and Jack’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.  The Doctor’s eyes lost their focus and his face took on a wistful, faraway look and Jack waited patiently for it to pass.  
  
“And Donna?” he finally prodded and the Doctor blinked as he returned to the present then looked away, refusing to meet Jack’s eyes.  
  
“Donna,” the Doctor stated flatly.  “Yes, Donna, she ... she went back to Chiswick.”  He snapped the sonic open, oblivious to Jack’s bemused expression, and began randomly scanning objects in the vicinity.  
  
“Donna Noble,” Jack pressed skeptically, leaning on the table on both elbows.  “The woman who begged you not to die, not to change?   The woman whose life you pleaded with Davros to spare?  The one you pleaded to die for, in her place, never mind that the TARDIS was being destroyed before your eyes?”  He tapped the tabletop with each point, his suspicions mounting as the Doctor’s expression grew grave and forbidding.  
  
“Donna Noble?” he repeated.  “The one who piloted the TARDIS better than you, like the two of them were old friends?”  At that, the Doctor’s head shot up but the look on Jack’s face dared him to deny it and he settled back with a churlish snort that Jack studiously ignored as he continued his interrogation.  “She just up and left the TARDIS?  She left you?  With all that Time Lord hoodoo floating around in her head and you’re telling me she chose to go back to Chiswick?  You just let her?  I don’t believe it,” he concluded, folding his arms high over his chest.  
  
The Time Lord had the good grace to look abashed as he answered, “I never said she left willingly or of her own accord.”  He grew preternaturally still, his lips barely moving and Jack had to strain to hear his words over the growing buzz of life coming from the waking city around them.  “It was the Time Lord consciousness she absorbed…she couldn't contain it.  It was killing her.”  
  
Jack unfolded his arms and laid his hands back on the table.  “I was afraid of that,” he admitted softly.  “And?”  
  
“And I fixed it,” the Doctor stated, his chin raised defiantly, but his eyes told a different story.  “I made it so that she could live out her normal, human life without being contaminated with my…”  
  
“And you did that how?” Jack interrupted, dreading the response.  
  
“I… sealed it all off,” he whispered in a dead, hollow voice.  “I hid it all from her, buried deep inside her mind.  Everything we did, all of her memories of me and our travels together, everyone she met, all the things she saw and learned and … felt.” He gazed out, unseeing, over the Piazza, his eyes drifting out of focus.  “It’s all gone now.  It’s like it never happened.  There were so many places I wanted to take her.  There were so many things I never got the chance to share,” he said wistfully with a slight tremor in his voice.  Realizing belatedly what his confession might reveal to anyone who cared to look, the Doctor abruptly launched an elaborate verbal countermeasure.  
  
“You know, the popular mythology of her day held that humans only used approximately ten percent of their brains, which was patently false and probably arose from a misunderstanding of early 19th century neurological research, with that neat little number being propagated by American author Lowell Thomas in the foreword to Dale Carnegie's widely-read How to Win Friends and Influence People - which, in my opinion, was complete rubbish, by the way - where he attributed that falsely precise percentage to a Professor William James of Harvard University,” he rambled pedantically, ignoring the look of outrage on the ex-Time Agent’s face which darkened with each word.  “Thomas claimed that Professor James used to say that the average man developed only ten per cent of his latent mental ability, when in actual fact, the good professor simply asserted that people only meet a fraction of their full mental potential, and who can argue with that?”  
  
“That misrepresentation of the facts was so pervasive,” he barreled on, on a roll and unable to stop now, “that the eminent hosts of the early 21st century American television program MythBusters used magnetoencephalography and functional magnetic resonance imaging to scan the brain of Tory Belleci attempting, what was for him, a complicated mental task. Finding that well over ten percent of his mind was active at once, they declared the myth “busted".  While I agree wholeheartedly with their methodology, I would have found the results to be a bit more compelling had they used, say, Grant Imahara, as their test subject, but still….”  He glanced back at Jack and sobered, fumbling awkwardly with his sonic again.  “Anyway, the point is, with a bit of a tweak here and tuck there, I was able to build a wall around the Time Lord consciousness… compartmentalize it, if you will… along with anything that might have triggered it into reasserting itself.  I buried it all, Jack.  I … I buried her.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Jack exploded, his temper flaring.  “You killed her, you mean.”  He glared at the Doctor and stabbed an accusatory finger into his chest.  ”She may still be walking and talking out there, somewhere in the world, but  **you**   **killed**  the woman you knew.  You jury-rigged her brain- you have to know that there will be repercussions!” he accused. "Even when Torchwood Retcons someone to erase a short time period or a specific set of memories, we have to be cautious to avoid complications.  You know that,” Jack raged.  
  
“How long was she with you, Doc?  Six months?  A year?  A loss that massive…it would affect every part of her memory, her personality, her soul…Erasing an entire year would inflict severe psychological damage on anyone’s mind.  It’ll probably drive Donna insane.  And what you say you did… you know there’s always some leakage, especially in the strong-willed.”  His face crumpled suddenly and he shook his head in disbelief.  “How could you  **do**  that?  To someone you…”  
  
"She would have died, Jack," the Doctor interjected in a dark growl.  
  
"There are worse things than dying, Doctor," Jack said sadly, recalling time spent in strong, trusting arms, learning Welsh, just so he could understand and return endearments whispered in the dark.  
  
“Worse things than dying?  Worse for  **who** , Jack?  Her or me?" the Doctor raged, slamming his hands on the table and attracting a few sidelong glances from the tourists who were beginning to throng the square.  “I couldn’t let her die, Jack, I just couldn’t!  After everyone else I’ve lost, you can’t just expect me to let her go!”  
  
"You weren't always such a selfish bastard," Jack said, not bothering to hide his contempt.  
  
"And you weren't always a sentimental fool," the Doctor shot back without hesitation.  
  
“Oh, that's rich, coming from you," Jack snorted and he rounded on the Doctor, preparing to challenge him again when the hollow, haunted look in his eyes gave him pause. He suddenly saw he was facing a man who had lost more than just a friend; he'd lost his lifeline, his anchor, his reason for going on, and Jack realized that every harsh word he could conceive of throwing at the Time Lord, every accusation, every failing, the Doctor had already heard. From himself. Lost and alone, he sat across the table from Jack, drawing in each breath and releasing it again out of habit. He only continued because Donna was still out there, somewhere, breathing in and out, and Jack was forcibly reminded of that old adage: while there's life, there's hope.  
  
He looked down, toying with the spoon on the table before dropping it, and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, letting his hair fall forward and cover his eyes.  He looked back up through his fringe and sighed heavily.  “What is it you want me to do?”  
  
“I need you to look after her, Jack.  I need you to protect her,” the Doctor whispered hopefully.  
  
“What from?” Jack demanded.  
  
“From herself. From me,” he murmured.  “She's my best mate, Jack. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe, even if it means I can never …"  He blanched suddenly, eyes staring away into the distance and a thin sheen of sweat broke out across his face.  
  
“What is it, Doctor?  What’s wrong?”  
  
The Doctor was still and silent for a long moment, only his eyes moving restlessly back and forth as he searched for something only he could see.  He blinked repeatedly, almost dazed before Jack’s words reached him and his mind returned to his body.  “She’s in danger, Jack, and I can't protect her,” he finally sighed in a broken voice, slumping forward.  He heard the slight tremor in his own voice and he hated himself for it. He despised his weakness. He had no right to grieve for her, not like this. They weren't together; they would never be together. She was only his friend, his best mate and nothing more and inside, he raged even harder against that truth.  
  
His eyes returned to the sonic he was still toying with, and he pursed his lips, frowning slightly as he peered at some imaginary anomaly he found there. “She’s stable for now, but it’s only a matter of time, and it's all my fault.”  He ran his hands through his hair in the echo of a gesture Jack recognized and despite himself, he felt a sharp stab of sympathy for the last of the Time Lords.  
  
“I don’t understand," he ventured.  "Why would someone threaten Donna?"  
  
“There’s a man whose very presence threatens her survival," the Doctor pronounced in ominous tones.  "He’s attached himself to her, and every moment she’s with him could very well be her last.”  
  
“Who is he?  What does he want?" Jack asked.  
  
"I don't know what he wants," the Doctor lied, fully facing Jack, staring him down as if daring the man to call him on it.  
  
"Then how do you know she's in danger?” Jack asked, watching him closely.  
  
“Because I can feel it,” the Doctor spat back angrily.  “I can hear it, hear her, when the Time Lord part of her mind is … stimulated, when it’s trying to break free.  And that's his doing. It's his signature. It's how I know when they're together.”  
  
"What do you want me to do about him?  Should he conveniently disappear?" Jack asked with faintly sardonic twist of his lip.  
  
"No, no, Jack; nothing that dramatic," he replied.  "I want you to warn him off.  I want him out of Donna’s life before something irreparable happens.  It’s only a matter of time before this man destroys her."  He paused to muse internally at the irony. Being a danger to Donna Noble was another thing he seemed to share with this man.  "I need to know she's safe," he said finally, snapping his sonic closed with a flourish.  
  
"I understand," Jack said slowly as the Doctor pocketed his sonic. "You don't have to explain. I know. I wasn't with the two of you for very long, but I saw."  
  
“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” the Doctor choked out, his hands fumbling again with that accursed bow tie.  
  
"And I'm sure you do," Jack replied evenly.  "With the 'hands off' vibe you were putting out before I was even onboard the TARDIS?"  
  
"Of course," the Doctor spluttered, flushing brightly.  "Donna's my best mate and I didn't want her to get hurt. She'd been through a quite a lot just before she met you and she was emotionally vulnerable."  Jack snorted incredulously and the Doctor sat up straighter, frowning in confusion as he continued.  
  
"I didn't want her to misunderstand what a smile or hug from you might mean, that's all. She's from a different point in time than you and the cultural and sexual norms of her time vastly differ from your own," he sniffed, waving a hand about airily.  
  
"Right.  Of course," Jack smirked with a raised eyebrow.  "It was the clash of cultural and sexual norms you were concerned about."  He considered his next words carefully.  
  
"Look, Doc.  I know your heart belongs to Rose,” Jack ventured cautiously, “but we both know you have more than one of those."  He reached across the table and rested his hand on his friend's arm. His grasp was warm, solid and reassuring and for once, the Doctor allowed it. "I'm sorry about Donna. I didn't realize how much she meant to you." The Doctor didn't acknowledge Jack's words; he only looked down at his hands folded in his lap but Jack was sure he saw his chin tremble ever so slightly.  "If you ever want to talk or just need some company, let me know."  
  
The Doctor nodded once, then muttered, “Thank you, Jack.”  He sat motionless for a moment more before he inhaled deeply and looked at the sky, then back down at Jack with a shuttered expression.  Anyone watching the exchange wouldn’t have known it, but these were two men facing the same challenge as everyone else on the planet- surviving yet another day - but with a handicap no one would have believed.  They employed two completely divergent strategies to meet their mutual goal of staving off the crippling loneliness of immortality. One man chose to keep the Universe at arm's length, remaining alone and above everyone who might have mattered, while the other tried his best to embrace anyone that struck his fancy and bury his isolation in their arms. Each strategy had its strengths but in the end, neither was particularly effective.  
  
“Just one thing, Doc,” Jack finally asked.  “Who is this man, and how do I find him?”  
  
The Doctor fished in his pocket again and said, “Hold out your arm.”  
  
“What?” cried Jack, incredulously.  “You disabled it. You think I just carry it around with me?”  
  
“Do you want your Vortex Manipulator back working or don’t you?” the Doctor demanded with a raised eyebrow.  
  
Jack sighed, then gave in.  “Ok, so maybe I do….,” he said sheepishly as he rolled up his sleeve.  As the Doctor turned his sonic screwdriver on the device strapped to his wrist, Jack asked, “So, what's his name?”  
  
“Carlisle,” the Doctor responded tightly, peering closely at the repairs he was effecting.  “Peter Carlisle.”  
  
“How will I know him?’ Jack prodded.  
  
“Oh, you'll have no trouble recognizing him, I'd wager,” the Doctor said with an ironic snort, punching in the desired time/space coordinates.  He stood up and snapped his sonic shut once more, adding cryptically, “It'll be just like seeing an old friend.”

 

* * *

 

 

**June 16, 2012  9:00 AM, BST**

 

“Sooooo,” Donna said, chewing her lip pensively, “what’s the skinny, Policeman?  What could you possibly have to tell me that’s made you so unsettled that you had to drag me out in public to do it?”  She cocked her head to the side and studied Peter, noting the faint colour that rose in his cheeks.  “Come on, how bad could it be?  I mean, I already know I was a PA to some UNIT expert Something-or-Other who specialized in Little Green Men, and you figure I was the victim of some Black Ops agency who goes about willy nilly wiping the memories of troublesome people who’ve  _seen too much,_ ” she said, wiggling her fingers about on either side of her face and rolling her eyes.  “What’s left for me to have been doing during my missing time?   Toppling oppressive regimes?  Averting natural disasters?  Being abducted by an alien?”  She pushed the remains of her breakfast to the side of the table and pulled her mug in front of her, toying with the handle for a moment before looking back up at him.

 

Misinterpreting Donna’s nervous movements, the waitress came by and offered, ”Can I get you two anythin’ else, then?”  She smiled as Donna looked questioningly at Peter, then shook her head.  “No, I think we’re fine, thanks,” she replied.

 

“Let me know if you change your mind,” the girl said as she laid the bill down and cleared the empty plates from the table before moving away through the busy dining room.

 

When the waitress was out of earshot, Peter leaned an elbow on the table and fixed her with a serious glare.   “Donna,” he huffed, running his hand through his hair, exasperated at her flippancy, “when ye say it that way, of course it sounds completely daft, but that doesnae change the facts.  When ye’ve eliminated the impossible, what remains…"

 

“I know, Peter, I know, and it’s not that I don’t believe you, but really?  Me?” she said with a shrug.  “When you consider all this happening to me, it is a bit far fetched.  There has to be a simple explanation for all this, right?”

 

Peter nodded once with a resigned frown.  “We know ye were with Doctor Smith durin’ the Burning Sky Incident and that UNIT was involved,” he said reasonably as he pulled out a stack of pictures from his coat pocket and laid them on the table between them.  He tapped his finger on the clearest image first, the one of Donna, smiling and dangling an empty binder, surrounded by uniformed men with Doctor Smith by her side. “And from the beginnin’, I was reasonably sure that these were of ye as well,” he added, fanning out the rest of the pictures on the table before her.

 

“I’ve seen these before, Peter,” Donna reminded him slowly.  “I didn’t remember them the first time, and I don’t remember them now.”

 

He studied her openly as if trying to memorize the moment, then looked away, ducking his head and running his hand through his hair again with a sigh.

 

“Policeman?” she asked quietly, his unease beginning to worry her.  “What is it?”

 

He scratched at the back of his neck before he spoke.  “Donna, I told ye before, there’s one more image I want ye to see.  Well, no exactly  **want** ye to see, but ye need to see.  And then, we need to talk,” he said quietly.  

 

“And here’s me thinkin’ we were doin’ that already,” she teased.  When he offered only a half-hearted smile in return, she sobered a bit, then tried unsuccessfully to hide her mounting anxiety.  “That sounds ominous,” she said, half playful, half serious.

 

“No, no ominous, but it is important,” he reassured her. “Ye need to see this. It may hold some of the answers ye need.”  He held out his hand and smiled at her encouragingly, but his smile was at odds with the flicker of apprehension she saw in his eyes.

 

As she began to reach across the table, Donna had a premonition, a flash-forward for the briefest of moments and she knew without knowing how that this event was both inevitable and inexorable. She had to see whatever Peter didn’t want to show her.  She had to hear whatever Peter didn’t want to say.  Afterwards, nothing would ever be the same. They had reached a turning point and she could see their futures dancing before her, every possible permutation of happily-ever-after shimmering side by side with every conceivable tragic ending. Before she could so much as draw a breath, colors without names burst before her eyes, obscuring her vision and overwhelming her with their strangeness.  She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear her eyes of the subtle shades that engulfed her, refracting and reflecting in patterns never before seen on earth, coalescing into a swirling chaos that centered around them both.  She saw all of time and space stretching away to infinity and the enormity of it all threatened to obliterate her.  Just as Donna realized with dismay that she was lost, drowning in forever, Peter’s fingers brushed hers, blessedly warm and human and as quickly as it began, it ended.  At the touch of his hand on hers, she forgot.

 

“Donna?” he whispered as he used his free hand to pull one picture out away from the others.  “Love, just look.”  She blinked again and stared up at him in confusion.  “Please?” he begged, his voice breaking, and he swallowed before continuing.  “I cannae pretend any longer. This is ye together with him, isnae it?”

 

Reluctantly, Donna tore her eyes away from him.  As she looked down at the picture he pushed across to her, she stopped breathing and her world slid sideways.  The picture was a bit grainy and off center, but there was no mistaking the subjects captured therein.  In a deserted stairwell of some unknown building, Doctor Smith held her in a bone-crushing embrace and was grinning in obvious delight.  Donna’s own face was hidden from the cameras by the curtain of her hair, but there was no mistaking her posture as she enthusiastically returned his embrace.

 

Peter saw the moment Donna slipped from the present and hovered on the fringes of her past.  She pulled her hands away from him without knowing it and to his consternation, for the first time in weeks, Donna’s right hand strayed to the ring finger of her left hand as a single tear streaked down her cheek.  At her reaction, his heart dropped, seeing his worst fears seemingly confirmed.

 

Donna swallowed without realizing it, her breathing ragged and her head spinning.  She could hear that blasted, beautiful, frustratingly-familiar atonal song again, the one she couldn’t even hum.  Just as she started to panic, his hand was on hers, pulling her back from the brink and he shifted so that he was sitting beside her.   She turned blindly to him.  “Peter, I…” she stammered.  “I…I don't remember.”  She picked up the photo with a trembling hand, then shook her head.  “I don't remember this, I don't remember him, I don't ... “ she mumbled frantically.

 

Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head, biting her lip as vague memories aligned with the evidence in her hand.  “Oh, God, Peter... I knew him. I  **knew**  him…,” she realized.  “Oh, it all makes sense. That's why …" Tears sprang to her eyes and she looked at the ceiling, unable to go on.

 

Peter wanted to say something to comfort her, but for the first time with Donna, the words refused to come.  Instead he squeezed her hand gently and waited for her to continue.

 

“That night, at my mum’s house… He ... he went out of his way to say goodbye and I was so rude. I didn't mean to be. I was on the phone and I just didn't think. And when Veena finally rang off, the look on his face... he looked just like a kicked puppy or somethin’. He  **knew**  me and I just...,” she rambled on in explanation.  She looked desperately at the man beside her as if he could absolve her of her sin.  “I reckoned I'd just apologize the next time he came ‘round, but I never saw him again.”

 

“An’ that’s why ye started so violently that night ye first saw me.  Ye thought ye had finally found him, nearly two years on,” he murmured, looking down at their hands so she couldn’t see his eyes as he twined his fingers with hers.

 

“Smith, Smith, Smith,” she muttered under her breath, still lost in recollection and missing the note of sadness in his voice.  “That’s never his real name.”  She clutched at her hair in frustration, her head spinning, and she felt unaccountably warm as the sun came out from behind the morning clouds and filled the little booth she shared with her policeman.  “It’s maddenin’, Peter.  His name is on the tip of my tongue but it just keeps slippin’ away. I couldn't say it if my life depended on it,” she cried, even as she became aware of a sweet, musical sighing, almost as if someone nearby was softly singing.

 

“Why can't I remember?” she begged, turning to face him fully. 

 

Peter swallowed and glanced away, his lips compressed into a hard, thin line.  He tried to hide it, but Donna saw the sudden, subtle tension in his jaw and she reached out for him, intending to ask him what was wrong as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.  He glanced back, meeting her curious gaze once more before averting his eyes, but it was enough.  She had seen.  Peter was angry and deeply ashamed of it, she realized belatedly.  He was humiliated by the jealously that filled him, which threatened at any moment to overflow and overwhelm his larger purpose, but for her sake, he was trying to be a better man.

 

Her heart went out to him and at the same time, she realized that her frustration was just a reflex.  The deep, burning need for her past was gone, the hole in her heart filled in.  Donna was done with drifting through life; she was tired of being the woman who waited, marking time and waiting for her life to begin. She wanted something more to hold onto than vague, unsettling snatches of recollection, and she was ready to do something about it.

 

“Peter,” she said quietly, “How long?  How long have you had this picture?”

 

“A while now,” he admitted, still examining their hands.

 

“Why not show me this before?” she pressed.

 

Peter chewed his lip pensively. “I didnae like what I saw,” he finally admitted.

 

“What’s happened?” she persisted, intent on teasing out the truth.  “Why the change of heart?”

 

He turned her hand in his, cradling it and covering it with his other hand.  “I realized,” he began slowly, before leaning back and sighing heavily, rubbing at his eyes.  “I realized I was bein' a selfish git,” he confessed.  “I want to be honest, an I want ye to be happy, even if it’s no with me,” he finished in a wretched voice.  He ventured to look up then, meeting her gaze and he frowned slightly, sucking in air between his teeth before fixing his eyes on a spot just above her head.

 

“Peter, there's something I want you to do for me,” Donna said as she reached over to gently lay a hand on his face and bring his eyes back to hers.  “Will you?”

 

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation.  “Ye've but t' ask.”

 

“I want you to stop.  Stop lookin’ into my past,” she said with a conviction that surprised them both.

 

“What?” he asked, appalled.  “Why?”

 

“Don’t.  Just don’t,” she replied, caressing his cheek.  “I’m not interested in lookin’ for what I lost anymore 'cos I've found all I need and everythin’ I could ever want.”  She smiled gently at him, hoping he could see the truth of her words in her eyes.

 

“But Donna, we’re so close-“ he protested.

 

“No, Peter.  Hear me out.  Before I met you, I didn’t see a future, so I was obsessed with findin’ out about my past.  I was frightened and alone, but I don’t feel that way anymore,” she told him seriously.  “You reminded me that I have worth, regardless of what my mum thinks,” she added ruefully. “I’m still workin’ on believin’ it, mind, but with you around, it gets easier every day.”

 

“Donna-“ he tried again, but she cut him off before he could continue.

 

“And I’m glad I took on this long-term assignment at C&G.  I’ve started to make friends there, and I can see my contributions makin’ a difference in the office.  I’ve become a ‘valued employee’,” she chuckled, making air quotes around the term, “but honestly, I only did it to be closer to where you work ‘cos I wanted to see more of you.”

 

“Donna,” he said, awkwardly scratching his head before being silenced by her raised eyebrow.  She waited until he capitulated with a resigned shrug, tiny smiles forming on both their lips but for different reasons.

 

“Peter, somehow, everythin’ good that’s happened to me lately is all down to you,” she finally admitted with a bashful smile, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

 

“I think yer overstatin’ the matter a bit, Donna.  I-“ he started again, but she refused to let him downplay his role in her life.

 

“Peter, I’d given up before you.  I didn’t think I’d ever love again.  I didn’t think I deserved it,” she admitted quietly, before offering him a giddy smile.  
  
Peter shook his head in automatic denial, but Donna continued.

 

“Well, then, look at it this way,” she said soberly.  “No one from my past ever bothered to try and find me or anythin’.  I’m still in the same city.  I didn’t change my name when I married.  My mum and granddad still live in the same place. This picture?” She waved a hand at it dismissively.  “I don’t know what was happenin’, but this Doctor Smith?  He knows where I am.  He was  **at** - **my** - **house** ,” she said, stabbing the image decisively, “and in all this time, he’s never once tried to contact me.  I obviously didn’t matter much to him,” she finished, her tone matter-of-fact.

 

“Then the man’s a fool,” Peter replied hotly before he took a deep, calming breath.  “Donna,” he offered more charitably, “did it no occur to ye that perhaps he wanted t’ find ye but was prevented from doin’ so?  Maybe Torchwood got to him as well?”

 

“Peter, love, you’re either a hopeless romantic or you’ve seen too many spy movies,” she laughed, leaning in to kiss him.  “What, you think he and I were lovers, separated by destiny?  That stuff doesn’t happen, not in real life.”

 

“But Donna,” he tried once more, “I promised ye I’d look into yer past, to find-”

 

“And you’ve kept your promise,” she interrupted.  “Peter, my past?  It doesn’t matter, and knowin’ what happened to me wouldn’t change a thing.  I want you to stop.  Stop lookin’.  I’ve already found my happiness,” she said with a tender kiss.  “I’m good.  Are we good?”

 

He smiled back at her, the first genuine smile he’d managed since entering the restaurant, he realized.  “Better than good- we’re great.”  He leaned in again and brushed his lips across the back of her hand.

 

Donna glanced up at him and caught sight of their waitress, belatedly realizing that the girl was making her third discreet circle back to where they were seated.  She reached into her bag just as Peter saw the bill on the table and he waved her gesture away as he pulled out his wallet.  “It’s my pleasure,” he said, discomfited, realizing how long they’d been tying up the table and fishing out enough to cover their meal and leave their server a generous gratuity.  He nodded his thanks to the girl as he and Donna both stood to leave, grateful for her patience on a busy weekend morning.

 

“Peter, I need to make a stop,” Donna said, pointing in the direction of the loo. “I’ll just be a minute.”

 

He nodded and smiled at her.  “I’ll step outside to wait for ye. It’s gettin’ busy and I’m sure they’d appreciate the table back,” he said, scooping up the forgotten photos and stuffing them back into his pocket.  His smile grew into a grin as Donna impulsively kissed his cheek before threading her way across the crowded room.

 

He stepped outside onto the high road, looking up and down the street at the early morning shoppers who were beginning to appear.  Stuffing his hands deeply into his coat pockets, he rocked back on his heels and peered through the window as he searched for Donna.  He sighed in relief with a slight smile as his hand closed around the photo he’d kept secret for so long for no reason.  He’d won out against her past.  She’d consciously chosen him.  This Doctor Smith, this ghost, whoever he was, he was just that: pale and insubstantial and gone from her life.  He might inconveniently flicker into view occasionally, but he was no rival for her affections.

 

Just then, Donna emerged from the restaurant and looked around, grinning widely when she found him.  She marched straight up to him and took his face in her hands, standing up on tiptoe to kiss him soundly, nibbling slightly at his bottom lip.  He laughed aloud and pulled her flush against him, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around her securely as he breathed her in.  When he opened his eyes again, Peter let out a quiet snort of amusement.

 

"I suspect our overt display of affection has scandalized at least one member of the general public," he murmured into her hair as he tucked her under his arm and started off down the street.

 

"What?" Donna demanded, frowning in confusion.

 

"That tall man across the street in the unseasonably warm greatcoat,” Peter replied, and Donna grinned as she noted that her Policeman didn’t so much as incline his head in the offended party’s direction, his body language betraying nothing to an observer.  “The look of shock on his face was priceless.”

 

Donna, however, didn’t care one whit what the man might think.  ”Where?” she demanded, whirling about to see, but it was too late. He'd already melted away into the crowd.  "What did he look like?"

 

"I dunno," Peter lied.  She narrowed her eyes and poked at his ribs and with a laugh, he confessed.  ”6 feet, early to mid-forties, shortish dark hair, longer in the front- maybe dyed,” he mused wickedly before continuing.  “Rugged good looks like a model from one of those glossy Sunday inserts, chin cleft and a bit of swagger to his step.  I noticed him just before ye came out because he looked like he was about to say somethin’,” Peter mused. “Ringin’ any bells?”

 

“Not even a wind chime,” she admitted before turning her face up to him.  “But the way you describe him, I’d wager he’s rung a few bells in his time,” she added with a giggle at the look of mock-horror that crossed her lover’s face.

 

“Ms. Noble, the things ye say!” he cried, pretending to be scandalized and leaning in to kiss her again.  They were both too preoccupied to see the swirl of a long, dark blue coat as it disappeared around the opposite corner.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna sat bolt upright in Peter's bed, hair flying, and unable to catch her breath. She’d been dreaming and she hated this kind of dream, hated it with a passion.

June 17, 2012  2:10 AM  
  
Donna sat bolt upright in Peter's bed, hair flying, and unable to catch her breath.  She’d been dreaming and she hated this kind of dream, hated it with a passion.  She rarely, if ever, remembered much of her mind’s nighttime meanderings, and when she did, it was usually nothing more than insubstantial snatches, images that melted away as soon as she woke up properly and tried to examine them.  She might remember a familiar face or place if her dream had been drawn from her day to day life, but those weren’t the kind of dreams she hated. In retrospect, she thought, maybe she should call them nightmares, except she had the distinct impression that in at least some of them, she was actually happy. She always knew when she’d been lost in nightmares, though: she’d wake in a bed soaked with sweat and her hair would be plastered to her face as if she’d been running in a hot rain.  But this?  This was new and entirely unwelcome, because this time, her nightmare had a new resident. This time, she could clearly see the face of the man she loved, the man whose bed she shared tonight.  This time, she had been lost in a nightmare with Peter Carlisle and it horrified her.  
  
Donna scrubbed her face with both hands, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace as she carefully crawled out of bed, thankful her bad dream hadn’t woken the man beside her.  He had turned over in the night and looked so beautiful bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window that it was all she could do not to touch him to make sure she wasn’t still asleep and dreaming.  His chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm and she could hear the faint whisper of his breath on his pillow.  One hand was tucked beneath his head and the other was flung out behind him as if he were searching for her fingers even in his sleep.  Looking at him, she felt the prickle of hot tears and a familiar ache in her chest, and she silently crept out of the room before she began to cry.

 

**********

  
Peter awoke with a start, groggy and disoriented.  A glance at the clock stood on his bedside table told him it was nearly 3:00 AM, and he knew something was amiss. He reached out a hand and fumbled about on Donna’s side of his bed but he found it cold and empty. He forced himself upright and sat in the silence for a moment, looking about curiously, blinking and straining to hear some sign of life.  Something was wrong. Something had woken him, but he couldn’t immediately tell what it had been.  He rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he padded quietly down the hallway to his living area.  
  
“Donna?” he called, looking about in confusion when he didn’t find her curled up reading on the sofa. He looked about and realized light was leaking from beneath the door to the loo and, as he moved closer, he could hear water running in the shower.  
  
“Donna, are ye alright?” Peter asked from outside the door.  He paused but when he received no reply, he called out once more, “What’s the matter, Donna? Is somethin’ wrong?”  He waited a moment longer before he opened the door slowly and peered in.  The air was thick with steam but as it cleared, he found her in the shower, curled up against the glass with her arms hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly, still clad in her nightdress as the warm water rained down.  
  
“Donna!?" he blurted out, moving quickly to the door of the shower stall.  When she didn’t answer and only began sobbing harder, Peter stepped inside, kneeling in front of her with his back to the warm spray from above. He rested a hand on her knee but she seemed oblivious to his presence, her whole body wracked with the force of her shuddering, convulsive gasps. He reached out and put his arms around her and Donna started violently as if she had just been released from a trance.  
  
“Peter?  Peter!  What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” she snapped, pushing him out of the downpour.  “Go back to bed right this instant!  I’m just takin’ a shower.”  She tried to stand, wiping at her eyes angrily in a vain attempt to convince him nothing was wrong despite the fact that she’d elected to bathe in her nightclothes.  Peter wasn’t listening. He shifted to take a seat beside her in the ersatz rain and pulled her back down against his chest, holding her fast. “Let me go, Dumbo!” Donna thundered, “Are you flippin’ insane?”  She struggled weakly in his grasp before she turned and landed a solid swat to his shoulder.  She stared him down defiantly, incensed when he offered no resistance to her fury and instead merely sat there studying her face.   Her blood was up and she half-wanted a row but at the sight of him calm but concerned for her, she deflated.  Donna sighed heavily then collapsed against him, muttering under her breath, “You don’t half look like a drowned rat.”  
  
Peter shrugged and pushed her matted hair away from her eyes, then kissed her forehead and with that single, loving gesture, she was undone.  Her bluster fell away and she clutched desperately at the vest he’d slept in, openly crying in front of him now.  He kissed her forehead again and maneuvered his body to block the water from her face and shield her eyes. He held her patiently as he waited for her wracking sobs to subside, stroking her hair and murmuring soft words of comfort in her ear.  
  
“Donna, what’s happened?” he ventured when she finally quieted in his arms.  "Talk to me, love."  
  
She shifted slightly and refused to meet his gaze as she replied, “Nothing, Peter.  It was nothing.  I’m bein' foolish.  It was just a nightmare.”  He gingerly lifted her face up to his with a finger and waited to kiss her until she leaned in towards him.  He pretended not to notice the gentle quiver of her lips against his.  
  
“Tell me,” he whispered as she shook her head.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she demurred.  
  
“OK,” he said quietly, nodding, but he made no move to release her.  He waited without comment, his head resting back against the shower glass, only raising his hand to turn the water off as it began to cool.  He settled back down with her, silent except for the sound of their breathing in the steamy confines of the shower.  
  
“I had a dream,” Donna finally confessed.  “It was cold, and I was somewhere rocky and barren.  I looked down and there was a body on the ground, half-buried in the snow.  It was a man, I think, and he’d been injured.  There was blood on his clothes and he was dyin’ and there wasn’t anythin’ I could do.”  She could see flashes of her dream, but everything was fuzzy around the edges, her recollections growing hazy the harder she tried to examine them, as memories of her dreams were wont to do.  She shook her head once in frustration before continuing.  
  
“And then Dr. Smith was standin' there, with his hands in his pockets and the wind whippin' around him, and I was kneelin' on the ground beside the dyin' man.  I remember lookin' up at him, and he was so sad.  And then I could hear singin’.”  She twisted his vest in her fist in frustration before she pulled back to look into his eyes.  
  
“Peter, I hear that same song, time and again in my dreams,”  she ground out between clenched teeth, wishing there were some way she could let him hear the music echoing in her head.  “I don’t know the words and I can’t even hum the tune.  Whatever it is, it’s in some foreign language, and it just about breaks my heart.”  She squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to focus on the dying strains playing out in her memory, but they were as elusive as ever.  When Donna opened her eyes again, Peter was looking at her expectantly.  
  
"I looked up to ask Dr. Smith about the song and...he walked away from me,” she continued, the words carried out on a sob.  “I called out and he turned and waved at me, but he kept walkin’ away.  I got up to run after him,” she shuddered and clung to him desperately, “and I tripped.”  She felt an awful lurch in her chest, the dread of what’s to come at the apex of a roller coaster as the memories washed over here again, but she forced herself to go on.  "And then I was somewhere else and I was beggin' and screamin' and everythin' went dark. I started to fall and I knew I was gonna die, I just knew it.”  She clutched him tighter and whispered into his chest.  “And then you were there. Before I hit the ground, you were there.  You caught me and you wrapped me in your arms and I woke up.”  
  
“And came to take a shower in yer nighty,” he said dubiously.  Donna ignored the statement and instead focused on the air filling and leaving his chest beneath her ear.  "Do ye think ye're remembering yer time with him?” Peter finally asked quietly, his breath warm against her ear.  
  
“Dr. Smith? I…I think so,” Donna confessed before she fell silent again.  
  
“And that makes ye sad?  No happy?” he persisted.  Peter tried to catch her eye, but she refused to look up at him.  "The two of ye had to have been close, from the pictures we’ve found.  Do ye miss him?” he finally ventured, needing but not wanting an answer.  “Is that why ye’re cryin', then?”  
  
“Yes,” she replied automatically, but she shook her head at the same time.  “No.”  She straightened in his arms, her hands drifting automatically to her temples and she pressed trembling fingers tightly to both sides of her face.  "I mean yes, I think I miss him, but no, not that way.  It wasn’t like you think.  We weren’t like that.  We were never like that,” she said in a hollow voice, and Peter pulled back to search her face.  Donna frowned when she looked at him, her forehead creased in confusion and Peter was alarmed to see that she looked almost dazed.  
  
“What is it, then?  How am I to help if ye willnae tell me what’s made ye cry?”  He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, to keep his words neutral and calm, but his disappointment bled through.  “We donae keep secrets from each other, do we?"  
  
Donna blinked suddenly and tried to meet his gaze, but when she looked into his eyes, filled with equal amounts of love and concern for her, she had to fight to choke back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her yet again.  She bit her lip hard, focusing on the pain as a way to center her thoughts and bring her emotions under her control.  She closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing and leveling out her racing heart, and only when she felt she could once more trust herself to speak did she open her eyes again.  
  
“No, Peter,” she agreed as she pulled away from him slightly, “it’s just that I’m .....well… I’m...”  She fidgeted awkwardly with the lace trim on her sleeve, unable to look at him properly.  
  
“What?” he asked, nudging her leg gently with his.  He reached over and clasped her hand, threading her fingers with his own and brushing his lips across her fingertips.  
  
She hazarded a glance back at him before she blinked rapidly and looked up at the ceiling.  "I’m afraid,” she breathed, embarrassed.  "Oh, Peter, I’m so scared.”  He squeezed her hand gently and Donna squeezed back but found she couldn’t face him.  
  
“Of what?” he asked, puzzled, as she buried her face back in his chest.  He draped his arms about her shoulders and pulled her close again.   She turned in his arms, desperate to see his face as she tried hard to explain.  
  
"When I have dreams, like these, yeah?” she began, struggling to make herself understood.  “Peter, you’re right.  I know it’s things I’m tryin' to remember.  What if my life was like that before?  What was I doin'?”  She shook her head and looked down at the nightgown clinging to her legs, grimacing as she pulled the rapidly-cooling fabric away from her body.  "I told you to stop lookin'. Now, I’m startin' to think that maybe it’s better if I don’t remember, either."  
  
“Maybe,” Peter conceded, “but dreams are funny things.”  He shifted and put his hands on her shoulders and Donna finally looked into soulful brown eyes.  "Donna, when ye first saw me, it was at the scene of a murder, a man’s murder where he’d been stabbed.  Maybe I told ye too much about it.  But that’s all this is: just yer brain processin' old memories and gettin' them all mixed up with other things.  It just startled ye, that’s all.”  He gently pulled a lock of damp hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear with a reassuring smile.  
  
Donna smiled back wistfully and shook her head again.  "No, Peter, no.  That’s not it."  
  
"Then what?” he pressed.  
  
"What if….” she began, letting her fears spill over in spite of herself.  “What if these nightmares are just the beginnin'?  They’re things I’m tryin' to remember, things about my past.  What if they work both ways?” She turned pleading eyes to his, desperate for reassurance.  "Peter, I’m terrified.  What if it happens again?  What if I’m about to forget?  What if I wake up tomorrow and I can’t remember the life I’ve rebuilt since the first time?  Peter, what happens if I wake up tomorrow and I can’t remember you?" She gripped his hand in both of hers as if she could hold on to her memories by sheer force alone.  "I don’t know what happened to me the first time, to make me forget.  I just remember wakin' up in my bed with almost two years of my life wiped away.  And I know that at least some of it was good and that I was happy then.  Peter," she sobbed as the ultimate source of her misery finally escaped, "I am so happy with you, and I couldn’t bear it if I forgot again."  
  
"Donna, that willnae happen again,” he soothed, holding her tightly and kissing the top of her head.  When she snorted in disbelief, he continued.  "It will no,’ he said resolutely. "And besides, if somethin' did happen, this time would be different."  
  
She looked up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"  
  
"This time, ye'd know someone was out there, looking for ye," he replied, kissing away her tears.  "And I’d never rest, not one hour of one day, until I had ye back in my arms."


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's him. It's definitely him," Peter Carlisle declared, poking a finger at the image on the computer before him.

Friday, June 22, 2012  3:10 PM  
  
"It's him. It's definitely him," Peter Carlisle declared, poking a finger at the image on the computer before him. "And look at the spray artists. Look at what they're all doing.”  Alec Turner leaned over the DI’s desk and inadvertently knocked over a photo stood next to the screen.  He picked it up reflexively and looked at the monitor just in time to see a stocky, balding man in an ill-fitting suit on the CCTV footage, trying to separate a young man in a hoodie from a small knot of people with limited success. Every time he managed to put himself in front of one member of the group, the rest would skirt around the periphery of the camera range and reform around their own like a school of fish evading a predator.  
  
"They know exactly where to stand to keep themselves from bein’ photographed and to put Tippett squarely on camera," Peter said with a knowing smirk. "It's payback for harrassin' them and threatenin' Bence.  The tip we received about Tippett’s whereabouts must have come from one of the artists. They want him gone. He’s a thorn in their side, and they’ve come to the conclusion that the best way to be rid of him is to let us do the prunin'.”  Alec nodded his agreement and turned his attention to the photo he still held.  
  
"And look at the date and time stamp on the footage,” Peter continued excitedly.  "Tippett's a creature of habit. Three days' worth of images and he’s there consistently at the same time. All we have to do now is-"  
  
"We have all met Donna, you do remember?” Alec interrupted, one eyebrow raised in question as his eyes flicked from the picture in his hand to the small collection of photos on the Detective Inspector’s desk.  “There’s no need to set up a gallery to prove her existence.”  
  
Peter looked up, blinking owlishly in confusion. In the excitement of discovery, he’d quite forgotten to whom he was speaking.   Alec gingerly placed the frame he held back with the half-dozen others on display, smiling despite himself at the change in the DI.  His friend was becoming positively human, thanks to the influence of one Donna Noble.  “Hold up,” he blurted out, pointing at an image of Peter grinning up at the camera, his arm around an obviously amused Donna who was rolling her eyes and batting fondly at Peter’s chest. "Was this one actually a selfie?”  
  
“Well, there was nae anyone else about at the time,” Peter replied with a faintly defensive air as he laid the folder of still images Alec had brought him for comparison back on the desk and adjusted the angle of the frame sitting next to it.  
  
“No, I like it,” Alec assured him, picking up another framed snapshot.  “Besides, it’s always helpful to have photographic evidence of phenomena most people assume to be impossible,” he deadpanned, "like you knowing how to genuinely smile.”  He looked up at Peter, expecting an embarrassed grin and was surprised at the serious, slightly melancholy expression the man wore instead.  
  
“I’m sorry.  Did I say something wrong?” Alec asked as he carefully returned the picture he held to it’s original position.  
  
“No,” Peter responded automatically, offering Alec a wry smile.  He chewed his lip for the space of a moment before confessing, “They’re for insurance purposes.  Just in case Donna … relapses.”   He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his neck with a slight grimace. "She had a nightmare this last weekend and she's taken it into her head that she’ll forget again.  I told her she should nae worry, but to make her feel secure, I’ve taken the precaution of documentin’ our relationship.”  
  
“Logical,” Alec said quietly. “Did you discuss your plan with her?”  
  
“Of course,” he replied.  “I explained that pictures are a powerful way of reconnecting amnesia victims to their pasts.”  He reached for the nearest frame on his desk and smiled at the picture of Donna smirking and waving a stolen chip at him from across the table at the Bulls Head.  “And it’s given me an excuse to do what I should have been doin’ all along.”  He cautiously looked back to Alec, frowning slightly.  "I do nae believe Donna will forget again, but … it’s my way of protectin' what we're buildin' together.”  
  
Peter’s mobile trilled suddenly in his pocket and he fished it out while replacing the picture.  “Excuse me, it’s Donna,” he explained, glancing at the display before his eyes went wide and his left eyebrow shot up under his fringe.  His mobile rang again and Peter swallowed hard as his right eyebrow rose to flirt with his hairline. Alec leaned back, the better to catch a glimpse of whatever was on the mobile screen that had surprised the DI just as it sounded off again.  
  
“Bloody hell,” Peter muttered, gaping at the device in his hand as he lunged to his feet in alarm. "I've got to go."  He snatched his coat from the back of his chair, throwing it on as he dashed from his office and down the hall, leaving a bemused Alec in his wake.  He punched in a number on his mobile as he paced before the lift doors.  
  
"Ian. I need backup," Alec heard Peter say into his mobile in a clipped, urgent voice as he trailed behind. Peter darted into the opening doors of the lift and impatiently stabbed at the button for the ground floor.  He looked up and met Alec's questioning gaze just as the doors began to close. "Meet me as soon as you can at S&G's near the Met, off Victoria Street.  It's Donna and it's an emergency."

**********

  
She felt it first in Men’s Wear, an overwhelming sense of wrongness that made her want to run away as far and as fast as possible, but Donna Noble had never been one to turn tail or back down from anything.  She clutched the pale blue shirt she’d bought for Peter to her chest and fought the dizzying sense of nausea that washed over her.  Turning slowly on the spot, she searched for whatever had sent her head spinning and her stomach churning.  She could actually hear her heart pounding as her blood thudded through her veins and she forced herself not to retch in response. Just as she felt certain she was about to pass out where she stood, she found him.  He was standing no more than 20 feet away, both hands thrust deeply in the pockets of his long overcoat, pretending to consider a lovely swirly tie that plainly did not suit him at all.  
  
He knew the exact moment he'd been sussed.  Donna continued to pivot in place as her eyes roved restlessly about, looking for all the world and the commission-hungry sales staff like any other shopper in search of that elusive, perfect item that would conclude her foray into the retail jungle and allow here to return home triumphant.  Captain Jack Harkness wasn’t fooled for a moment.  
  
For a tiny, almost insignificant sliver of a second, their eyes met and Jack saw Forever.  Her face betrayed nothing as she focused on the display he was standing before and she smiled slightly, the triumphant expression of a huntress who had located her particularly evasive quarry.  She strode directly towards him with grim determination and Jack was positive Donna Noble would have more than a few choice words expressly selected just for his discomfort when she did something that surprised him.  
  
At the last possible second, Donna veered away and snatched a dark brown tie sporting a blue and light brown stylised peacock-eye design from the table before him, holding it up to the shirt in her hand with a bark of triumphant laughter.  Jack breathed a sigh of relief when she bypassed him without so much as a second glance and marched directly to the Saturday Girl at the till.  He stepped back and angled himself so that he could see her from the corner of his eye as he picked up a pair of deep maroon braces from the other side of the table.  Glancing down, he surprised himself by seriously considering purchasing them.  He risked a quick peep at Donna as she completed her transaction and he reluctantly placed the braces back on the table as she passed him and made her way across the store.  
  
Jack ducked behind a rack of clothing to watch as she entered the Lingerie Department.  Donna had been making a beeline towards a table laden with lacy knickers when she paused to run an appraising finger along the lace neckline of a gorgeous, midnight-blue silk nightdress.  She bit her lip as she glanced between the lacy fitted bodice and down at her own chest before she lifted the garment from the rack and whipped out her mobile.  Jack smiled as she snapped a photo of the bodice, then turned the gown around and took another picture of the plunging back and high side-slits.  His smile turned into a grin as she punched in a number and sent the pictures off via text and he was positive she stood there awaiting the response of a certain Detective Inspector.  
  
As she waited, Donna looked around and another, shorter gown caught her eye.  She walked over to a mirror and held it up to her body. Then, she raised the flirty satin chemise up at arms-length and took another set of pictures.  She smiled knowingly down at her mobile as she looked at the images and sent them off as well.  Donna looked up, still browsing, and Jack saw her smile morph into a confident grin as she spied a daring black lace Basque.  She turned it around and her smile deepened as she spun around in Jack’s direction and held the nearly-transparent garment up to the light, snapping yet another picture.  Jack’s eyes widened in approval as he took in the ribbon tie fastening that decorated the back and he silently congratulated the DI as Donna picked up the matching stockings and tiny lace thong.  
  
Donna looked down again at her mobile and dropped it into her pocket as she headed for the counter, plucking the first gown she’d admired from the rack on the way.  She placed the garments on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish with another customer when she abruptly turned back, obviously considering something before she headed directly for him.  Jack quickly averted his gaze and studied the tags on a high-necked, floor-length flannel dressing gown decorated with huge, garish cabbage roses.  He was forced to look up, however, when the toes of Donna’s pumps stomped into view.  
  
" **Who** -The- **HELL** -Are- **You**?" Donna demanded with an emphatic sideways twitch of her head. “You’re followin' me and **I** want to know **why** ,” Donna declared forcefully, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes flashing dangerously.  Jack swallowed and wondered if he was about to be on the receiving end of one the patented Donna Noble bitch-slaps Martha had told him so much about.  When she seemed content to simply glare at him, Jack breathed a bit easier and slipped effortlessly into damage-control mode.  
  
"You're mistaken," he said smoothly, gesturing at the rack of clothing before him. "I'm just looking for-“  
  
"What?  A nightie for your sainted gran?" Donna retorted tartly, and Jack found himself watching her hands closely as she waved them about under his nose.  “Liar,” she spat, "I asked you a question."  Donna cocked her hip and rested one lethal hand on it while the other dipped into her pocket.  
  
Jack took a precautionary step back, his hands raised in surrender. "Ok, you got me," he drawled, giving her his best bad-boy grin. "I have a thing for gingers and I noticed you're not wearing a ring, so I thought-"  
  
"Don't try that with me, Pretty Boy," she warned, tossing her hair back, her lips pursed and her chin jutting out towards him.  "I wasn't born yesterday, you know.  So to speak." She paused a moment, processing what she'd just said and Jack fought hard to keep his suitably-cowed expression firmly in place.  "Oh, you know what I mean,” she finally hissed in exasperation. She pursued him as he stepped back, in a vain attempt to escape her wrath.  "Anyway," she continued, barely pausing for breath, "I'm sure I'm not your type.”  
  
“A gorgeous, fiery woman like you?” Jack countered with a disarming smile.  “A man would have to be blind and stupid to not find you attractive."  
  
Donna crossed her arms again and shifted her weight back, narrowing her eyes as she glared angrily at him. “Oi!  Pull the other one, Flyboy,” she snapped. "And for your information, I took your picture and texted it to the police.” Which technically was true, she reflected internally, since she'd sent it to Peter.  She pulled her mobile out with a flourish and turned it towards him.  Clearly visible next to the short nightie she’d held aloft to photograph, Jack saw himself in the background, reflected in the mirror.  She flicked to the next picture in triumph and Jack was chagrined to see himself clearly admiring the scrap of black lace her DI would have to be dead not to appreciate.  “They’re on their way right now,” she said, replacing her mobile in her pocket and crossing her arms across her chest again.  
  
“Their involvement won’t be necessary,” Jack assured her solemnly, with a slight bow, starting to back away from her slowly.  “And I'm sorry to have bothered you, Miss…?"  
  
"Mrs. Carlisle," she lied smoothly and, Jack noted, without hesitation.  
  
“Mrs. Carlisle,” he repeated, smiling again in spite of himself as he turned to leave in a swirl of coat tails.  He got exactly two steps away when her words stopped him dead in his tracks.  
  
"Hold on. Do I know you?” she breathed and Jack knew it wasn't a question.  He made himself start walking again.  “I know you,” Donna declared forcefully, pursuing him across the shop floor.  “Why do I know you?” she demanded as she grabbed him by the arm and swung around before him to search his face.  
  
“No.  No, you don’t,” Jack assured her, pulling away against his will.  "I’ve just got one of those faces," he replied sadly.  
  
"You got that right, Jack,” she quipped with a wry snort of laughter and suddenly, her eyes widened and her face went oddly slack. Donna slipped out of time to another place and was surrounded by cold, metallic screams.  Flames licked at the periphery of her vision and she felt a series of small but terrifying explosions.  Amid voices raised in alarm, she clearly heard someone scream her name and she blinked rapidly in confusion.  Jack blanched as a faint, golden glow surrounded Donna and she stumbled. She whipped her head around and saw his face, superimposed over a ghostly image of the same man standing beside her in a strange, gold-green room with a bemused smile on his face.  
  
Donna's mobile phone began to ring in her pocket just as her legs gave way beneath her.  The man in the long blue coat lunged forward instinctively and caught her in his arms, lowering her down gently as she tumbled towards the floor, shaking and slipping away into the past. He put his hand to her forehead and drew back in alarm when he found it to be warm, far too warm.  
  
Donna looked back up at him then and frowned.  Faint recognition shimmered in her eyes: it fluttered behind her eyelids as gossamer wisps of memory struggled to break free. The man reached up and brushed her hair back away from her face. "Stay with me," he murmured frantically, checking her pulse. He clutched her tightly to his chest, then pulled back to see her face.  "I'll get you some help," he whispered.  
  
"Well, isn't that just wizard?" Donna groused as she swatted the familiar stranger on the arm.  "Now you want to hug me.” As her eyes rolled back in her head, she heard someone sob, long ago and far away, before the darkness washed over her, dragging her down and claiming her for its own.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You look like death warmed up, mate,” DS Ian Keating drawled over his cup, wincing in sympathy when he heard his partner’s neck crack as the DI stretched wearily.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012 10:00 AM

“You look like death warmed up, mate,” DS Ian Keating drawled over his cup, wincing in sympathy when he heard his partner’s neck crack as the DI stretched wearily. Peter Carlisle rolled his eyes and gave a wry nod of agreement but said nothing, grimacing as he sipped a tepid coffee before turning a bleary eye on his surroundings. The sidewalk cafe had been given a hasty slap of paint in a vain attempt to appear cheery for the throngs of tourists anticipated for the opening ceremonies of the upcoming Olympics. All of London, it seemed, was under renovation and the ubiquitous pink signs meant to direct visitors and Londoners alike to various venues had been in place for weeks. The complaining during the buildup to the event had been something of a national pastime for the better part of the last year, but Londoners’ infamous world-weary cynicism had begun to show signs of fading in the face of earnest enthusiasm as the games approached.

Peter, for one, would be glad to see the end of it all so that life could return to normal. The Olympic torch had already begun it’s long journey from Greece to Central London and would arrive in barely under a month’s time. Just that morning, an official statement had been released- ‘The police service is committed to ensuring the Games are safe and secure from all threats yet are policed in a proportionate manner, preserving the spirit of the occasion.’

The calm statement was intended to convey an attitude of complete confidence and utter competence, but the truth was the police were stretched nearly to the breaking point, expected to control a crowd of unimaginable size whilst thwarting any terrorist threats simultaneously. Oh, and it was being stressed that these two divergent missions would be carried out efficiently whilst always appearing polite and responsive to the public, regardless of how unreasonable the visitors from literally every corner of the globe might prove to be. A facade of calm competence and control must be maintained, their DCI had solemnly intoned, especially in the face of utter chaos. Even he and Ian were under tremendous pressure to put Morgan's unsolved murder case to rest before the tourists began to arrive.

"Seriously, Peter, you look terrible," Ian continued, eyeing his friend with concern, his words dragging Peter away from his thoughts and back to reality. "Are you feeling alright?” Ian looked away from searching the streets to study him properly. Peter’s relaxed demeanour effectively camouflaged an alert mind, but he’d been a tad bit more subdued than usual of late- a fact Ian put down to the probability of Peter spending more time in bed but less of it asleep in recent weeks. In the last three days, however, the man had looked positively exhausted.

Peter took another sip of tepid coffee with a grimace and continued to scan the passers-by from his seat before the sidewalk cafe. "It’s Donna,” Peter finally admitted, abandoning his cup on the rickety table. “She's no sleeping’ well. She's had nightmares, ever since that man accosted her in S&G. She hardly ever makes a sound. I just feel her tremblin’ beside me in the night.” Peter dragged his hands down his face and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Every now and then, she’ll mumble somethin' and I might make out a snatch of a phrase or a word, but usually, she’s silent. In the light of day, she says she doesnae remember her dreams, but I’m no sure if she really doesnae recall or if she doesnae want me to know.” He shrugged sadly.

"She’s still staying with you, then?” Ian asked with a raised eyebrow. “It’s been, what? Two weeks now?” He smirked knowingly when Peter all but blushed in response.

“Yeah,” he admitted with some reluctance. "It was just gonna be until the wiring for the new alarm system was completed, but now that she’s out of the way, her architect was keen to finally go through with havin’ the second level in her flat finished out. She wouldnae hear of it at first, but I convinced her, told her she might as well. She willnae tell me what they've planned - for some reason, it’s all a big surprise - but whenever she gets off the phone with him, she’s like herself again.” He smiled wistfully in remembrance before adding, “She’s exactly like the cat who got the cream.”

“And there’s been no change in her condition?” Ian persisted.

“If by that you mean has she remembered anythin’ about what happened in S&G, the answer is no,” he confided with a shrug, "and that’s the crux of the issue.” Peter lifted his head and scanned the crowd once more as he spoke, still not finding what they were waiting for.

"She still cannae remember what happened: no one thing after she sent me those photos. And I’m absolutely positive that’s what’s done it. It’s made her terrified. She cannae remember, so she’s certain that she’s about to forget again." He turned back to his partner with a sigh. “I cannae imagine what it must be like. To lose all the things that make you feel like yourself once, and then to be afraid that it’s happening again?”

"You studied psychology, didn’t you? What’s the best treatment in a situation like this?” Ian said hopefully, earning himself a snort of derision for his pains.

"Criminal psychology, Ian,” Peter replied with a shake of his head. "There’s a world of difference. But I’m beginnin’ to think that whatever it was that happened to her, maybe it’s a good thing she cannae remember. Maybe she’s…” he shook his head ruefully before continuing with a shrug. “It may well be that she's repressed those memories for a reason. It’s part of why I agreed to stop with my investigation into her past."

"So you’re just giving up?” Ian said incredulously.

"At her request, and only on the specifics of her past,” Peter clarified. "I never said a word about giving up on Torchwood or Tippet’s probable involvement.” He cocked his jaw to the side and sucked thoughtfully on his back teeth, wishing he had a sweet to calm his jangled nerves.

"You still think the man in the shop was Tippet’s muscle?" Ian mused, scratching his chin. "It seems out of character. He seems to be more of one for a personal laying on of hands.”

"I agree, but the man in the photos? He was the one I glimpsed across the street; he saw me with Donna,” Peter said, frowning in frustration. “And the shop girl, she heard him call her Mrs. Carlisle just before she collapsed. It seems logical he was Tippet’s man,” he persisted. “If it was Torchwood, why call her by my name? If they’re tryin’ to cover their tracks, why have they no simply made her disappear?”

Peter shook his head and looked away, his jaw clenched tight. He'd been so insistent in the beginning about keeping Donna's name out of the public record, but due to his temper, he'd failed her. Since being with him, she’d been stalked, not once, he reflected morosely, but twice, by two intruders with two different styles of surveillance. Was this the result of one organisation intensifying their efforts, he pondered, or should he consider these as two different incursions? Even the methodologies used were totally divergent, and he couldn't reconcile the stylistic differences. The first invasions, the ones perpetrated by the floppy-haired scarecrow-man, were completely tech-dependent. He’d danced around in the security footage, waving his magic wand about and POOF! Just like that, evidence had disappeared.

In sharp contrast, the more recent intrusions by the too-pretty, high-maintenance Metrosexual were entirely old-fashioned and eyes-on-the-ground. But in the end, what did it matter? Peter though ruefully, as ultimately, he was sure they were all his fault entirely.

He had never been one to let sleeping dogs lie, but this time, Peter almost wished he had. He’d put Donna in danger from the day he’d met her. Whether by stirring up the hornets' nest of her past with his investigations or simply by being with her, he was unsure, but he was certain her troubles were all down to him. In his darker moments, he had begun to think that perhaps she'd have been better off if she'd never found her way into his heart, but he could scarcely imagine his life now without her.

The puzzle of it all burned in his brain and he fairly itched with impatience. He wanted this done. He wanted a definitive conclusion to the erratic situation in which they found themselves. He wanted closure on the past so they could move on together towards their future. Well, today, Peter thought grimly as he looked away into the distance, today, the uncertainty would end. If nothing else, today, he’d get some answers.

Lost in thought, Peter averted his face and Ian regarded his usually unflappable partner for a long moment. He had seen Peter in sticky situations on several occasions and had only known him to be cool and calm in a crisis. Like any good detective, Peter was skilled at remaining detached and aloof, keeping his intellect harnessed in pursuit of the truth and a suspect, but this situation was different. This situation struck too close to home and to heart and Ian felt a keen pang of sympathy for his friend.

"Enough of me and my issues,” Peter announced unexpectedly, catching Ian off guard. “Maddie?” he asked with an exaggerated grin, one eyebrow raised in challenge, but as Ian opened his mouth to reply, he knew the opportunity was lost to circumstance.

A slim boy wearing dark glasses and a hoodie over a black satin baseball cap sauntered by, flipping open his jacket casually to reveal a t-shirt stencilled with the familiar image of a stormtrooper, a daisy incongruously tucked into the barrel of his laser rifle. The boy gave Ian a casual glance before turning on the heel of his cherry red DMs and heading across the street for an abandoned tramway station. "That’s him,” Ian said tightly, standing and pulling out his mobile after the boy passed. He punched in a number and, looking at Peter, said solemnly, "This is it.”

**********

Wednesday, June 27, 2012 10:45 AM

“I’m through piddlin’ about with you lot,” Peter heard Tippet growl as he advanced on their guide into the underworld. He pushed the boy roughly to the wall before he leaned in close, arms braced on either side of the boy’s head, bracketing him in and cutting off his escape. “It’s high time you reached a decision about your future. Like if you’re even gonna have one after today.”

“Oi!” the boy spat back, his voice pitched high, despite his bravado. “I ain’t afraid of you.”

“Have it your own way, then,” Tippet mused almost nonchalantly as he reached beneath his coat. His face twisted in an ugly leer, he pulled a long, thin blade free, holding it high and twisting it so that it glinted evilly in the gloom. “I guess you all didn’t get the message that I mean business. Your peers seem to be in need of another example of what happens to them what gets in my way. I reckon you’ll serve."

Peter glanced over to his partner and with a nod, they both stepped from the shadows. “Reginald Tippet, I am arresting you for the murder of Alun Morgan,” Peter announced, smiling cynically as DS Cave and Detective Dexter, along with two armed officers, emerged from their hiding places and made their presence known. "You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be taken down and given in evidence.” Peter, Ian and the two uniformed officers stepped forward as one, advancing on Tippett.

In one impossibly fluid movement, Tippet swung the boy he’d been threatening around in front of him and pressed himself back to the wall. The stiletto flashed menacingly in his grasp, just before his hostage's throat. “I don’t think so, Cop,” Tippet said calmly. “I think my friend here and I will just be walking out together,” he said as he clutched the boy tightly to his chest, all the while edging deeper into the tunnel. The boy was strangely quiet and from where he stood, Ian saw his hands twitch by his sides. "Am I right?” Tippet snarled, glancing right and taking another step towards the deep gloom behind him.

“Just let the boy go,” Ian said placating as the armed officers advanced beside him. “This will go much easier on you if you do.”Tippet opened his mouth to sneer a reply, when, without warning, the boy twisted and dropped lithely from Tippet’s grasp, kicking out with a heavy boot at his captor’s knee as he scuttled away to safety. Tippet tottered for a moment before righting himself and, seeing his advantage lost, he turned to run at surprising speed away and into the dark. As one, Ian and Peter lunged towards their quarry and began to give chase when a sharp, quick whistle from behind caught Peter's attention.

"This way," hissed the young man they’d followed with an impatient gesture as he turned and sprinted back towards the tunnel entrance. Peter glanced at the two armed officers advancing down the tunnel with his partner closely behind before turning and following the boy at a dead run.

As they pounded across the pavement at street level, Peter threw a hurried look around, trying to process the rapidly-evolving situation. "Where - ?" Peter huffed before the boy cut him off.

"I know where he's going, where he always goes," the boy cried breathlessly as he ran headlong into a crowd of tourists who scattered at his approach. "If he gets ahead of the others and manages to give them the slip, there's a dozen ways he could go. He'll just disappear again and we’ll both be back where we began, but not if we can cut him off.”

With Peter hot on his trail, the boy darted between two automobiles stopped at a zebra crossing, then dodged a girl on a moped before plunging into the mouth of the next tramway station, just as Tippet blundered out directly into Peter’s path. Tippet's eyes widened in angry surprise as the boy hurtled past and he thrashed about convulsively with the stiletto he still carried before him and Peter stepped back, just out of reach.

“You ain’t got me yet, Blue,” Tippett scowled, facing Peter and pressing his back to the wall. He cast a furtive glance into the dark tunnel, looking after the graffiti artist he’d threatened earlier. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Peter eased his hand into his pocket and pressed the call button on his mobile, activating the prearranged signal he and Ian had worked out after the apprehension of Bence. He heard the call connect and withdrew his hand again.

“Let’s just stay calm,” Peter said slowly and distinctly. “The other officers are right behind ye: there’s no possibility of escape from this station. Just put down the knife and-”

“I don’t think so,” the man snarled with savage glee. “At least not 'fore I’ve finished with that bitch of yours,” he sneered, nodding his head back towards the tunnel. He locked eyes with Peter and favoured him with a predatory grin, edging along the wall towards the beckoning freedom beyond.

Anger flared white-hot behind Peter's eyes, momentarily obscuring his vision before clearing just as quickly, leaving a sense of deadly calm in its wake. "Ye leave her out of this, I’m warnin’ ye," he said bluntly and seemingly without emotion. "She’s no yer concern; yer problem is with me, no her."

Without warning, Tippet lunged forward with the same deadly grace that must have laid Alun Morgan dead in a Chiswick alleyway. Outside himself, Peter saw Tippet move as if he were watching and rewatching a video, scrubbing back and forth, looking for a particular frame frozen in time. He saw the blade flash out away from Tippet, a bright sliver of silver, and he was puzzled when it return to it’s position before the man's chest now stained a sticky, toffee-apple red. When time once again resumed its normal flow, Peter heard an ugly laugh of triumph at the same time he registered a searing pain just below his left shoulder. His right hand automatically reached up to touch his arm and Peter was surprised when it came back covered in his own blood.

Tippet raised his eyebrows and in a near-whisper, he taunted, “I’ll just be goin’ now, but you tell that bitch this ain't done between us; we’re not through.” He looked back down the tunnel once more before whipping his head back to face Peter. "That fuckin’ slag’ll beg for it,‘fore I'm finished with her.”

In a blind fury, Peter dove forward, slamming Tippet violently back into the tunnel and knocking the blade from his hand. The force of the blow caused the stiletto to skitter away across the concrete as Peter pinned his assailant to the wall, his injured arm tight across the man's neck while he fumbled for his mobile in the pocket of his coat with his free hand. He jerked it free and brought the display up before Tippet’s face, his voice rising in tandem with his indignation. "Who is this man? Why did ye send him after Donna? Why are ye after her?” Tippet sputtered incoherently and Peter roared, "Tell me now!”

Startled and fighting for breath, Tippet answered without thinking. "Piss off, Blue!” he wheezed. “I ain’t set no one on nobody! I’ve never seen him before: he’s none of mine."

Supremely unconvinced, Peter leaned against him harder, throwing his full weight into the arm across Tippet’s neck. “Look again,” Peter hissed, thumbing to the picture of the man in S&G with Donna in the foreground. “Why are ye harassin' this woman?”

“You’re barkin’, Blue,” Tippet croaked, turning his head and trying to fill his starving lungs. “I ain’t never laid eyes on that ging cow.” A slow smile crept across his face as realisation dawned. "And here’s me, thinking you were a big jessie,” he taunted as Peter eased back slightly. Peter looked at his arm, now drenched with blood, pressed against the man’s neck. He glanced at his mobile and terminated the call before dropping the device back into his coat pocket and reaching down for the handcuffs in his belt pouch.

“It’s over,” Peter grunted, spinning his gloating captive around and pressing him against the wall again as he clapped a cuff on one wrist. “Yer done.”

Sensing an opportunity, Tippet thrashed his free arm around and continued. "Who's she to you? Your wife or your piece on the side? Your ginger charva? Tell me, Blue,” Tippet said, wrenching himself partially from the detective's grasp and turning to watch Peter’s reaction, his voice dropping to conspiratorial levels. "Is it true what they say about a fire crotch?"

Peter’s eyes went wide and before he knew it, he’d drawn back his fist and punched Tippet squarely in the face.

Falling back against the wall, Tippet howled “Police brutality!” victoriously as Peter snarled and cocked his fist again. Before he could deliver a second blow, however, he was rammed violently by an inky shape hurling itself at him from the mouth of the tunnel.

Stunned momentarily, Peter reeled back away from Tippet as he lost his footing and landed on his injured shoulder with a suppressed gasp of pain. He rolled over quickly, scrabbling to his feet just in time to see the dark silhouette of the forgotten graffiti artist kick Tippet viciously in the knee. The battered criminal went down hard, cursing and curling himself into a defensive ball, but not before the boy got off one solid kick to Tippet's face. Peter winced in spite of himself as the bright red boot landed with a sickening thud and he leapt forward to pull the boy off the prone man just as he heard someone approach from behind.

Peter looked over his shoulder to find DS Cave emerging from the tunnel with a stunned expression, panting heavily. He stood, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand while mutely surveying the scene until a sound behind him announced the arrival of the armed officers, with Ian appearing a moment after. Peter stumbled against the boy he was restraining, wincing as the last of his adrenaline burst burned off and his arm began to throb. He grimly smiled his thanks when DS Cave stepped forward and took Tippet in hand.

“Sir, you’ve been injured!” Cave blurted out in alarm, looking between the dark, wet stain spreading across the shoulder of his superior officer and the blood flowing freely from the broken nose of the prisoner on the ground. Ian closed the distance between them in two quick strides, putting a hand on Peter’s uninjured shoulder.

“It’s naught but a scratch,” Peter replied to his partner's unasked question, suddenly tired beyond words.

“You ought to have that tended to right away,” Ian retorted as he eased the boy from his grasp, but Peter waved his concerns away. He promptly ruined his dismissive gesture when he slumped with his back against the wall for support.

DS Cave stared at the DI for a long, hard moment before he hoisted Tippet to his feet and snapped the dangling cuff on the suspect's free hand. “Tilt your head back or you’ll drown,” he said in exasperation to the injured man, muttering "Gormless prat,” to himself as he bundled him away.

“Police brutality,” Tippet croaked, pointing at Peter. "He’s mad, that one. He’s done his nut! I know my rights: I want my solicitor!” He whirled back to Peter, his face a mask of rage. "I’ll be out on bail before the hour, Jock,” Tippet scoffed contemptuously, blood and spittle flying, as Caveman led him away. DI Carlisle watched him go with a clenched jaw, grinding his teeth as his lip curled in disgust.

Peter waited until Cave disappeared with Tippet into the waiting police vehicle and Ian stepped away to speak with the armed officers before he roused himself and rounding on the boy in disbelief. “And you!” he hissed under his breath, "Just what in the hell were ye thinking’, attackin’ a police officer?”

"We're even now, DI. You saved me, and I returned the favour,” the artist said meaningfully, with a nod to the camera at the mouth of the tunnel. Peter looked around for the first time and realised he recognised the location. Looking over his shoulder and then back to the tunnel mouth, Peter mentally compared his surroundings to what he had seen on CCTV footage and he understood. His assault of Tippet had been off-camera, while the boy’s attack would have been clearly visible. He looked back at the artist in confusion as he extended his wrists to Peter.

"Take me in. I’ll tell the truth. We ran straight into that bloody arsehole here and you scuffled with him. He swung the knife, injuring you more seriously than you were aware,” the artist said, gesturing at the bloodstained sleeve of the DI's coat with a shrug. Focused as he was on Peter, he didn’t notice when Ian returned to listen quietly a few feet away. “Tippet had made threats of bodily harm against me and I was certain I’d be next, so I took advantage when you knocked him down. I just made sure he’d stay down,” he said mirthlessly.

He unzipped his hoodie and removed his baseball cap to let shoulder-length blonde hair fall free. Watching the transformation that was unfolding before him, Peter’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “DI, Tippet only screamed police brutality to cover up the fact,” the artist continued with a satisfied smirk, “that he got taken out by a little girl.” The young woman removed her dark glasses and ran her fingers through her hair. "Your girlfriend went out of her way to help my lover," she said gratefully. Her voice dropped and she concluded smugly, “You know what they say: payback’s a bitch."

“So the tip came from you,” Ian asked from where he stood. The young woman’s head jerked around and she visibly relaxed when she recognised him. Ian favoured her with an appreciative nod and stepped closer. “If you could just make a formal statement of the facts, Miss…?”

“Elsa,” the girl supplied and Ian nodded again.

"We’ll have you make a statement, Elsa,” he continued smoothly, "and then you’ll be on your way with our thanks.”

Elsa regarded him shrewdly, looking back and forth between the two detectives before she smiled slightly and nodded her own agreement. Peter met her eyes and they shared a tired smile of relief. She looked down at her boots with a frown as Ian motioned to one of the Uniforms who had arrived on the scene. Seeing her distress, Peter fished in his pocket and handed her his handkerchief without a word. She grinned over her shoulder at him as the uniformed officer escorted her away to a waiting car.

After the girl was gone, Peter leaned back against the wall, surveying the scene around him as SOCOs swarmed about cataloguing evidence. He was battered and beaten, Ian reflected silently, but unbowed. “That’s it, then,” Ian said quietly. “It’s done.”

“Aye,” Peter exhaled slowly, “it’s done.”

“You’ll tell me the rest later?” Ian asked, eyebrows raised. When Peter closed his eyes and nodded, Ian’s lips quirked in concern. “You really should have that arm looked at.”

Peter opened his eye a crack to stare balefully at his friend before relenting and shrugging in resignation. He winced at the motion, then suddenly straightened up in obvious alarm.

“Fuck!” Peter spat angrily as he peeled back his bloody coat sleeve to reveal an ugly gash across his left biceps. “This was a new shirt!” He turned in time to see Ian’s concerned expression morph into disbelief. "Donna’s gonna kill me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: In researching a bit of slang, I came across a term I absolutely fell in love with, the Ladies from Hades… http://slangterms.tumblr.com/post/32393289010/ladies-from-hell.
> 
> I know exactly who is going to say that, to whom and under what circumstances.
> 
> I love it when a plan comes together.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter would never forget the look on her face as Donna burst into the treatment area with the senior A&E nurse hot on her heels.

**Wednesday, June 27, 2012 12:15 PM**  
  
Peter would never forget the look on her face as Donna burst into the treatment area with the senior A &E nurse hot on her heels.  He heard a fierce commotion outside in the corridor and looked up from watching the young doctor put a stitch in his wound just in time to see her blaze through the door, her eyes wide and her face ashen.  
  
"Miss!  Miss, you can't go in there!" the nurse insisted, reaching for Donna's arm as she caught up with her.  
  
Donna rounded on the unfortunate woman, swinging her hair about in a flaming halo and roared, “Miss?  MISS?  Do I look single to you?!?”  She paused momentarily, her head tilted defiantly to the side, one hand on her hip and the other stabbing forcefully at the room behind her.  “I get a call sayin' the man I love has been injured in the line of duty and taken to hospital.  But when I get here, you lot won’t tell me anythin’!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air.  She squared her shoulders before continuing.  "So this is me, goin’ in. Right here.  Right now.  And,” she challenged, punctuating each phrase with an emphatic twitch of her head, "I’d like to know how, exactly, you intend to stop me!”  
  
“Donna?  What-?” Peter spluttered, staring at her in stunned surprise as he started up from the table. His doctor laid a restraining hand on his back and Peter reluctantly sat, shooting an accusatory glare at the man watching the proceedings from the corner.  Ian shook his head at the unspoken allegation and shrugged even as he moved to intercept the distraught ginger charging into the room.  
  
Still preoccupied with the A&E nurse, Donna leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, a portrait of righteous indignation.  "If you don’t like it, Florence Nightingale, I suggest you call the flippin’ police.  _"Oh, wait,_ ” she cried caustically, shifting her stance and drawing gracefully sarcastic circles in the air, " _they’re already here!_ "  Not waiting for a reply from the stunned nurse, she whipped back around towards Peter, nearly bowling Ian over in the process.  
  
“Donna, shhhh, it's OK, love. Peter is fine, I promise,” Ian said soothingly, reaching for her shoulders as she made to dart around him.  He leaned down and spoke softly, trying to catch her eye as she stood on tiptoe, looking for her lover over his shoulder.  "The doctor is fixing him up."  
  
Donna started violently in Ian's grasp, then neatly sidestepped him, stopping short with a puzzled sideways shake of her head. True: the man beside Peter was dressed in a long coat, but it was a stiff, starched white, not the flash of swirling brown she half-expected for some reason.  He gaped in wonder at her outburst and the pale blue of his eyes under his tidy blonde fringe made her inexplicably sad.  
  
Before anyone else could react, Ian swept an arm around Donna's shoulders and neatly turned her back towards the waiting area.  "He’ll be through with Peter shortly and then I’ll bring him out to you.”  The calm, earnest quality of his voice cut through her panic and she paused when his eyes met hers.  "Alright, now?” Ian asked hopefully.  She wavered in place for a moment, her eyes darting between the doctor, watching her open-mouthed between sutures and her lover, sat precariously on the edge of the examination table.  
  
“Donna, please,” Peter pleaded, “it’s OK; I’m OK.  Go with Ian now.  I’ll be there straightaway.”  His eyes begged for her patience and Donna stared at him, unblinking, before exhaling forcefully, pursing her lips and cocking her head to the side with one eyebrow dangerously arched.  
  
“I promise, it’ll only be a moment,” Ian coaxed from beside her.  "Come out with me now and I’ll tell you what’s happened.”  He pulled her gently away and Donna let him lead her back to the waiting area, much to the relief of the nurse on duty.  As they reached the doorway, Peter caught the furious glance Donna threw his way and winced, but the thought that he might have seen her chin tremble slightly gave him hope. Coming back to himself now that the Ginger Storm had passed, the doctor took advantage of his patient’s distraction to finish up.  
  
"There you are, DI Carlisle.  You should be good as new in approximately four to six weeks, eight at the most,” he said, tying off the last stitch before stripping off his gloves and peering appraisingly at his handiwork. He gave a satisfied sniff as he nodded, making notes on his tablet as he recited care instructions from memory.  "No activity for three days to let the wound begin to knit up, and no heavy lifting or strenuous activity for at least three weeks."  He dug into his coat pocket absently and handed over a small phial of tiny pills.  “Syndol.  Take two of these as needed for the pain every four to six hours.  There’s a three day supply there and when they're gone, switch to regular paracetamol."   Peter took them without comment, staring down at the bottle without seeing as the doctor droned on.  "You shouldn't operate a vehicle while taking these.  And no alcohol as long as you’re on any medication, including paracetamol.  Understood?”  
  
Peter looked up from his blind contemplation of the phial in his hand to nod his assent.  He turned it over and over while considering his various options for damage control. It was blatantly obvious that he’d miscalculated Donna’s reaction to the situation and now he was considering how best to correct his mistake.  After due consideration, it became abundantly clear to him that his only viable course of action was blatant honesty and Peter sighed heavily and returned his attention to the A&E doctor outlining his care.  
  
"See your physician in ten days to ensure everything is healing up correctly, earlier if there’s any change that might indicate infection, and to determine when the sutures should be removed," the doctor droned mechanically as he made to leave.  "I’ll send the nurse in to finish up and explain your care and then you’ll be on your way.”  The young doctor paused at the doorway, glancing between his subdued patient and the waiting area where the ginger woman was heatedly berating the detective who had escorted her there.  He hovered for only a moment before he spun on his heel and strode purposefully to a drawer at the far side of the room, then turned back to Peter with a frown of pity.  “And here- put this on,” he said, extending a small, plastic-wrapped package.  “Given the location and relatively minor nature of your wound, it isn’t strictly necessary, but it may just save your life, nonetheless.”  


**********

  
Ian waited until the nurse emerged before returning, running his hand over his close-cropped hair with a sigh. “How's the arm?” he asked, carefully closing the door behind him.  
  
Peter experimentally lifted it with a tiny grimace as he examined the doctor’s handiwork.  Satisfied, he lowered his arm and reached for the overlarge t-shirt Ian had filched from a gym bag he'd found stashed in the boot of the patrol car.  
  
"I'll live,” Peter replied, tugging the shirt down with a sharp intake of breath as an unexpected stab of pain shot across his upper arm. He ignored it and began to gather up his ruined garments, carefully folding the bloodied sleeves to the inside of the bundle.  "How’s Donna?” he finally asked when Ian didn’t continue.  
  
“Yee-aahhh,” his friend drawled, scratching at his head and regarding Peter with blatant sympathy.  “About your first statement?  You might want to reevaluate your prognosis.”  
  
“I was goin’ to call,” Peter sighed as Ian shrugged once more.  “How bad is it?"  
  
Ian dropped his hand and shook his head. "You haven't had the worst of it yet, mate, and it’s got nothing to do with the state of your shirt.  Want to try and slink out the back?” he replied, his eyes wide with hope, hooking his thumb towards the door.  "I’ll be right behind you.”  He offered up a wry smile the DI couldn’t bring himself to return and Peter shook his head in response.  “Oh, well, it’s your funeral,” Ian said, "but never say I didn’t try to warn you."  
  
“I didnae mean to upset her,” Peter said irritably, feeling the need to defend his decision once again.  "I didnae want to disturb her at work when she’d only just returned.  And who in bloody hell called her, anyway?”  He shook his head, wishing he could go back in time and handle the situation differently.  “Ye did tell her I was plannin' to call her and then to go by and see her at her work the moment I was released?”  
  
“Yeah, and that just earned me an earful of my own,” Ian replied, chagrinned.  “She said, and I quote, ‘ _Ian Keating, you of all people should have known better than that.  He was injured and obviously not thinking clearly.  What’s your excuse?_ ' “  
  
Peter nodded, biting his lip and drawing in a deep breath as he looked to the heavens.  He looked back at the plastic bag the doctor had left him and a slow smile of embarrassed understanding crept across his face. He considered it for just a moment before ripping it open. Peter shifted his gaze back to his partner with an apologetic expression, then inclined his head towards the door. “I’m sorry ye had to bear the brunt of my poor decisions,” he said quietly, even as Ian waved his words away.  Peter wrestled awkwardly with the contents of the package, then inhaled deeply once more as he moved to the door.  “It’s time to pay the piper,” he muttered to himself as he pushed through into the waiting area beyond.  


**********

  
He found her leaning on the counter at the nurses' station, chatting away with the men and women there as if they were all lifelong friends. He observed as the nurse who'd delivered the continuing care instructions he'd half-heard came around the counter to tuck a handful of alcohol wipes into a plastic bag of sterile gauze pads and adhesive tape lying next to Donna's shoulder bag and he knew he was in trouble.  The girl gave no sign that she’d seen him as she carried on explaining his care to Donna but he knew she had.  
  
“Change the dressing at least twice a day, keeping an eye out for infection, yeah?  As long as you keep it clean and lightly covered and prevent the wound from reopening, he should be fine,” she concluded with a comforting smile while pointedly ignoring Peter, much to his consternation.  
  
As he approached from behind, Peter noticed one of the male nurses prod the man next to him with a knowing smirk.  Donna must have noticed as well because she stiffened slightly before turning around to face him.  He stood quietly, awaiting her reaction, his arm in the sling the doctor had left him.  He had initially dismissed it as unnecessary, but seeing the murderous look on Donna's face made him grateful that he'd reconsidered.  
  
She marched straight to Peter and, without a word,  smacked him soundly on his uninjured arm, causing him to wince in pain. Ian looked on, wide-eyed, as Peter rubbed his newly-assulted arm ruefully. _Well_ , he mused internally, _at least she got the correct arm_.  
  
"THAT," Donna cried, waving an accusatory finger under his nose, "was for not callin' me yourself, leavin' me to find out you'd been injured from someone else!"  
  
"Who called ye?" he asked reflexively and the look on her face immediately confirmed Peter's belated fear that his choice of words was absolutely the wrong response.  Every member of the nursing staff held their breath, looking expectantly between Donna and Peter.  When the young woman at the computer’s eyes flicked down to the screen, Peter found himself wondering if she were readying his readmittance forms.  
  
Donna inhaled sharply and before Peter could backpedal, she closed her eyes and exhaled heavily.  She was determined not repeat her earlier mistake and initiate the scene everyone was clearly expecting.  Instead, she slowly opened her eyes again and looked over Peter's shoulder at Ian. “Is his car here?” she asked in carefully polite tones.  
  
“No,” Ian replied, watching them both and looking for clues on how best to proceed, “but I can have it brought round later today.  I'll call for a panda car to take you both home.”  He reached for his mobile but Donna shook her head.  
  
“Thank you, Ian, but that won’t be necessary,” Donna said, turning back to him as she swept her purse and bag off the counter.  “Just be a love, please, and call us a cab?"  


**********

  
 **Thursday, June 28, 2012  6:15 PM**  
  
Peter sat, staring out the window of his flat, too distracted by the scene replaying in his head to concentrate. The report on the circumstances leading up to the apprehension and arrest of Reginald Tippet sat before him, halfway completed, but he couldn’t escape from the memories of the day before. He could still hear the hurt in her voice, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the task at hand.  


**********

  
"Donna, I'm all right,” he’d told her on the cab ride to his flat when he could stand the silence no longer.  “It's barely more than a scratch."  
  
She turned to him slightly, raising an eyebrow in lieu of her voice. "A scratch that cost you at least two pints of blood and thirteen stitches, Dumbo,” she choked out, turning back to the window.  Peter could see her reflection in the glass and suspected she was fighting back the urge to cry.  When she finally hissed, ”And you didn't see fit to tell me,” he knew he’d been wrong to wait.  
  
She shot a baleful glance at the cabbie who was having a difficult time maneuvering through traffic since he was too busy watching his passengers in the rear view mirror.  “Oi! Stig!  Eyes on the road, if you please!” she barked in retaliation.  The complete silence that had accompanied the rest of the journey was painful.  
  
“Why?  Just tell me why,” Donna finally asked hours later as they'd sat together on the edge of his tub.  She gently removed the dressing from his wound, wincing when she got her first proper look. She dropped the used bandages into the bin at her feet and busied herself with opening an alcohol pad, refusing to meet his eyes.  
  
Peter had all but sighed in relief at her words. They'd spent the better part of the evening being so carefully polite, all but dancing around each other in an effort not to touch, it would have been comical if it hadn’t been so acutely awkward.  He was relieved that his patience seemed to be paying off and that she’d finally granted him permission to speak.  
  
"Donna, I just didn't want to worry ye needlessly,” he admitted, reaching for her hand.  "I was fine.  I **am** fine, but for upsetting ye.”  He squeezed her hand gently before reaching for her chin with a tentative finger.  She looked up, reluctantly meeting his gaze as he smiled hopefully, trying to coax an answering smile from her.  
  
“I know why you really didn't call, Policeman,” she admitted quietly, turning from his gentle fingers and fumbling with a gauze pad.  “You thought I’d make a scene and embarrass you, and even with your precautions, I still did.  I got stroppy with some poor nurse only doing her duty.”  
  
“No, Donna, I -” he began, but she cut him off before he could continue.  
  
“Peter, I know your job is dangerous sometimes. I get that; I do.”  She glanced up at him and was surprised to find him waiting for her to continue.  She reached for the adhesive tape and concentrated on peeling it back with a fingernail.  "I know you might be hurt and I know you can take care of yourself,”  she added, looking back at him with watery-bright eyes.  "But you shut me out of somethin' important.  And the staff wouldn't tell me anythin'!  They wouldn't tell me because we're not... I mean, I'm not … “  She shifted the tape in her grasp, unconsciously stroking her thumb across her ring finger and twisting his heart in the process.  "I - I just wanted to know you were really OK."  
  
He reached out to grasp both her hands, stilling her nervous movements.  “Donna, ye could never embarrass me with yer concern,” he murmured.  He pulled her hands to his lips, then added, “The thought never crossed my mind, I swear.  I only- "  
  
"Peter, for whatever reason, you didn't trust me,” she persisted quietly as she gently pulled her hands free.  "You took away my choice in how to react."  She looked up at him then, her gaze clear and sober despite the tear that trickled down her cheek.  
  
"If I'd heard your voice, heard what had happened from you, I wouldn't ...." She paused for a moment, considering. "Well, I'd still have been worried, but not as badly." She picked up the alcohol pad in her lap again and with quick, efficient strokes cleaned the area around his wound. She focused on her task, gently applying the antibiotic cream given she’d been given before covering the area with the clean gauze. As she carefully secured the bandages with gauze and a bit of adhesive tape, she whispered, "You've gone out of your way, time and again, to help me. Let me do the same for you.”  
  
Peter considered her words as she began to tidy up and he finally found his voice.  “Donna, ye’re right.  I’ve been alone too long,” he confessed.  He rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, looking up at her apologetically through his fringe.  “I’ve developed the bad habit of bein' too guarded in all my relationships and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to share a life.”  
  
Donna sat up straighter and angled herself so that she faced him fully.  “If we're gonna make this work, Peter, it has to be as equals.”  She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “Together. You said Natalie shut you out until it was too late for you to do anything about it.”  She reached out and stroked his cheek, her voice dropping to a whisper.  “Don't do that to me. To us?”  
  
Peter blinked rapidly and took a deep, shuddering breath as a tear threatened to spill over.  “I know we’ve really only been together a short time,” he said quietly as he reached out to stroke her hair, “but I cannae even begin to fathom what my life would be like without ye in it.  Donna, I love ye and I’m sorry.”  
  
“You’re sorry that you love me?” Donna exclaimed with a sardonic snort.  “I always suspected as much.”  
  
Flustered, Peter hurried to explain.  “That’s … that’s no what I -“ he sputtered awkwardly until she laid a gentle finger on his lips.  
  
“Just don't lie to me by omission, Policeman.  I'm not just here for the good times, you know."  She leaned in to kiss him and as she pulled away, she said softly, "I'm here for the bad as well."  
  
"In sickness and in health?" Peter quipped with an eyebrow raised in challenge.  
  
She scoffed loudly and just barely stopped herself from swatting his injured arm.  “I wasn’t angling for a proposal, Copper,” she said as she stood, startling herself with her words.  She refused to meet his eyes as he rose to his feet before her, instead rubbing absently at the back of her legs, just below her bum, where they’d begun to tingle from the awkward position she’d sat in too long.  
  
“I love you,” Peter said simply, pulling her to him with his good arm.  
  
Her lips twitched reluctantly, just shy of a incredulous smile.  “That’s delirium talkin’, brought on by blood loss,” she said dismissively, settling for a gentle swat to his chest.  
  
“Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt,” he whispered as he tilted her face up to his.  Warm brown eyes gazed hopefully into blue eyes filled with wonder before he lowered his lips to hers.  She carefully put her arms around his neck and leaned into him, deepening the kiss.  “I really am sorry,” he whispered into her hair, resting his forehead against hers.  She favored him with an indulgent smile, but before she could speak, he kissed her again.  
  
“Stop apologizing,” Donna said breathlessly when they broke apart.  “I was wrong, too.”  She shook her head in disgust.  “I still can’t believe how nasty I was to that poor nurse.”  
  
Peter lowered his head and nibbled at her neck.  “I’m sure she deals with worse on a daily basis,” he said in an effort to comfort her.  “Just send her some banana bread-“  
  
“Oi!” Donna cried indignantly, pushing away to glower at him, her ire tempered by the amusement in his eyes.  “How do you know about that?!?” she demanded.  
  
“Ye tell me yer secret informant and I’ll tell ye mine,” he wheedled, reaching for her again.  
  
“No,” she demurred, even as she ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.  “I choose to keep my source’s confidence.”  She looked at him askance.  “You forgive me?”  
  
“I as free forgive you as I would be forgiven: I forgive all,” Peter answered with a mischievous grin.  He clasped her loosely around the waist and busied himself with pushing stray strands of hair back from her face, tucking them securely behind her ears.  
  
Donna tilted her head and thrust out her chin as she searched her memory.  “King Henry VIII?”  Suddenly, her eyes narrowed.  “Wait- wasn’t Buckingham on his way to be executed when he said that?” she demanded.  
  
“The parallels abound,” he answered with a teasing chuckle, moving to embrace her fully.  Donna scoffed and gently slapped at his good shoulder.  
  
“We do pray for mercy,” Peter murmured into the tender skin of her neck.  
  
“And that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy,” she added, completing the quote as his lips met hers again.

**********

  
Peter was startled from his reverie by a reverberating crash as the door to his flat was rudely slammed shut.  He hurried to the entrance to find Donna storming into the kitchen, her arms full of shopping bags she dumped unceremoniously onto the counter, scattering the contents in the process.  
  
“Donna!  What’s happened? Are ye alright?” he asked, worriedly looking her up and down.  
  
She rounded on him determinedly and her thunderous expression brooked no argument.  
  
“OK, that’s it, Policeman,” she cried vehemently.  “Get packing.  We have got to move, and soon.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna Noble rested her forehead against the cool glass of the cab window, the bags of groceries she'd picked up after work arrayed on the seat beside her.

**Thursday, June 28, 2012  6:05 PM**  
  
Donna Noble rested her forehead against the cool glass of the cab window, the bags of groceries she'd picked up after work arrayed on the seat beside her. She stared out at the streets of Chiswick without seeing before her eyes slipped closed.  She could rest here for a moment, she thought, and be safe.  
  
She was loathe to admit it, but she was exhausted: she’d not been sleeping well after that weird encounter with the stalker in S &G’s. Every time she had closed her eyes since, she was plagued with bizarre nightmares filled with disparate, disjointed images and a confounding cacophony of sounds that made her shiver.  She was broiled alive, surrounded by flames and bright flashes of light and she felt, rather than heard, a deep, rhythmic thrumming all around her.  In her dreams, Donna was buffeted about by tiny, violent explosions that threw her to her knees, yet somehow, in the all confusion, she found a hand, just waiting for hers to hold.  Her vision would  suddenly clear and she would see it all: past, present, future, all wrapped up into a enormous ball of possibilities and probabilities, bounded by the inexorable pull of what must be and yet could never be.  She would see infinity, all of creation, everything… Every thing, except him.  
  
Trapped in her mind and screaming, Donna could only watch as she saw herself reach out to take the hand before her, just like she had a thousand times before.  Something made the touch inevitable, and she knew that with a single brush of her finger, she would save him even as she lost him; she would gain the universe in the same instant she destroyed her world.  
  
But before she could make contact, Donna had felt a lancing pain in her chest and she gasped aloud as she came awake.  She choked on her own breath as a horrible metallic screeching sliced through her dream, a rusting metal rake dragged across slate and the instant her eyes opened, everything was gone.  The dreams were so vivid, and the sense of loss so real that every time, she jolted awake in a cold sweat, fully expecting to be surrounded by hundreds of menacingly-ambulatory dustbins lying in wait.  And then it would vanish.  Everything would fade away: all that would be left behind were pale, insubstantial images wrapped in a dull, hollow ache and Donna would find herself weeping softly for no reason she could remember. The worst of it all was that it was getting harder and harder to hide her night terrors from Peter.  
  
It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him, but really, what exactly could she say?  ' _Oh, sorry to wake you, and I don't really know why I'm crying, but I remember there was a man in my dreams, and no, I don't think it was you, so never mind, just go back to sleep?_ '  She refused to be such hard work when she was already a burden to him. It was all inside her head if she could just reconnect the dots and put everything into an order that made sense. But in the dead of night, when she was brutally honest with herself, Donna wasn’t even sure she wanted an answer to her questions any longer.  If Peter could solve her riddle, what then?  The mystery surrounding her was what attracted him to her in the first place.  He’d said so himself. Peter Carlisle was first and foremost a detective, and he couldn't walk away from a puzzle.  But what would he do when the enigma was resolved?  Would he lose interest in her?  Would his attraction to her fade away?  In the light of day, she could scoff at these thoughts and easily dismiss them as ridiculous, but these were the fears that haunted her in the dark, night after night.  
  
But something last night had been different.  She’d jerked awake in the dark, cold and disoriented and she'd immediately known something was off. Something had changed. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but she hadn't been able to put her finger on it. She was out of bed in an instant, twizzling around wildly in a blind panic until her surroundings had resolved themselves into the familiar space of Peter's bedroom. As her anxiety had bled away, she'd registered the sound of measured breathing in the dark and she'd gulped in great lungfuls of air, trying desperately to calm her racing heart. She had cautiously crawled back into bed, her back against the headboard and her head in her hands, and she'd concentrated on matching her respiration to that of the man who slept soundly beside her. She had struggled to determine what was so wrong, had tried to cataloging every evaporating image and sensation. And then she'd had it.  
  
Peter. It was Peter.  
  
Peter Carlisle was a creature of habit, and since shortly after the first night she'd spent with him, she'd awakened to the pleasantly secure sensation of him spooning up against her back. He always slept on the right side of the bed, cuddled up against her with a long, slender arm slung across her midriff. She could literally count on one hand the number of times she'd awoken and not found him thus arranged, and three of those times he'd gotten up before her to make breakfast.  But not last night.  
  
Last night, Peter Carlisle faced away from her, not by choice, but from necessity.  Even in the faint moonlight streaming through the bedroom window, Donna had easily traced the edge of the bandage tied around his upper arm and the memory of the previous day’s events had come screaming back. Her defences already lowered, the horrible realization of what might have happened had hit hard and it had been too much. She'd broken into quiet, shuddering sobs, thinking of how close she'd come to losing everything once again.  
  
"Donna?" Peter had murmured, his voice thick with sleep and Donna had frantically scrubbed at her face as she swallowed her tears.   Peter had rolled onto his back as he'd searched for her in the dark and he’d given a tiny grunt when he'd inadvertently banged his shoulder against the mattress.  He'd blinked slowly as he'd struggled back to full consciousness in the middle of the night.  
  
"Donna, where….? What's happened?  Why are ye cryin’?” he'd asked, confused.  He'd begun to roll towards her automatically but she'd flung out a hand to push him back down.  
  
"No, Peter!” she'd cried in horror. "Don't!”  She'd touched his arm gently, both to soothe him and to reinforce her statement.  "You'll hurt yourself,” she'd whispered, rubbing at her eyes to erase the last tracks of her tears.  
  
“Hmmm?” he'd hummed quizzically, propping himself up and flopping back against the headboard beside her.  He'd reached for the bedside lamp and flipped it to its lowest setting before turning back to her. "Don't be daft, it barely stings,” he'd murmured as he'd lifted his arm carefully and waited for her to settle in against him.  "What's upset ye?” he’d asked quietly after she’d finished fussing with the bedclothes around them.  “Did ye have another nightmare?”  
  
She'd bit her lip and hesitated before nodding and looking away.  Peter had laid a gentle finger against her chin and guided her face back to him.  
  
“Tell me?” he’d asked.  His thumb had caressed her cheek, tracing the path her tears had taken earlier and he'd leaned in to gently brush his lips against hers before ducking his head down to catch her eye.  “Equals?  Partners, hey?”  
  
Donna had offered him a tentative smile and then had told him everything she could remember.  
  


**********

  
“Madame?  Madame, we’ve arrived.  This is the correct address, yes?” the cabbie asked solicitously when Donna made no move to leave.  Startled from her thoughts, she looked up, blinking owlishly and realized they were sitting at the kerb in front of Peter’s flat. Checking her internal clock, she realized the poor man must have been waiting patiently for at least two minutes and forty-two seconds for her reaction, almost half as long as the trip from Sainsbury’s would have taken. She looked into his concerned face and a photo on the dashboard behind him caught her eye.  It was a snapshot of what Donna assumed was his family, and the man stood behind his seated wife, grinning broadly, with their three young children.  
  
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry,” she replied, dipping into her handbag and passing over the fare.  “Must have been daydreamin’.”  
  
The cab driver glanced at the 20 pound note she offered and automatically began to unfold a roll of bills. He turned in surprise when Donna opened the door to leave.  “But, Madame,” he began, “Your change?”  
  
“No, keep it,” she replied, gathering up the rest of her bags as she stood.  
  
“But…” he spluttered, “your fare is hardly 5 pounds?!”  
  
“For the inconvenience,” she insisted, smiling at his confusion.  “Get a little somethin’ nice for your children,” she added, with a nod to the photo.  
  
"Thank you for your generosity,” he said slowly, folding the money away.  “May I help you with your purchases?”  
  
“That’s kind, but unnecessary.  I’ll take the lift," she answered, juggling her shopping and smiling as the man made to get out to help her close the door. Donna shook her head and bumped the door shut with her hip.  "Thanks," she called back as she started down the walk, sidestepping a bright blue ball and a chalked game of hopscotch.  
  
_Children_ , she reflected wistfully as she pushed the call button for the lift. Peter had begun to think of children, with her.   She’d never have believed it, but he'd said so himself: a boy and a girl, one for each of them to dote on. She stepped into the opening doors, still lost in thought.  At her age, she’d all but given up on the idea of children of her own and had resigned herself to the role of doting honorary auntie to Nerys’ twins, but now that Peter had brought up the subject, she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities.  As the doors began to close, she turned to push the button for Peter’s floor.  If she closed her eyes, she could all but see them, a dark haired boy and a girl with a shining crown of bright ginger hair, clear as day, playing in a park, as she sat on a nearby bench, deep in conversation with…  
  
“Stop!”  
  
Donna looked up just in time to see a young woman, arms full of shopping bags, making a desperate dash across the lawn.  Even before the woman cried, “Hold the doors, please!”, Donna was already shifting her own bags and throwing out a free hand to stop the doors from closing.  As the young blonde darted into the lift with a grateful smile, Donna smiled politely, nodding her greeting in return.  
  
“Oh, thank you,” the young woman gasped as she leaned against the side wall of the lift, settling her bags at her feet and flexing her hands.  “I was too lazy to make two trips and you see how that almost turned out.”  
  
Donna's smile grew wry in return as she replied, “Done that myself a few times.  What floor?” She punched in four for herself and turned slightly, her finger poised over the lift buttons.  
  
“Five, please,” the girl responded.  
  
They stood together in awkward silence for a moment before the young woman ventured, "Lived here long?”  
  
"Oh, no,” Donna replied.  "I’m just here temporarily, stayin' with a friend, well, my boyfriend,” she admitted with a slightly embarrassed grin.  “They’re renovatin’ my flat and it was easier to do without me under foot.  Should be done by the end of next week.”  Donna’s smile became a trifle sad at the thought.  She and Peter had grown so close so quickly and so easily, and she was shocked to realize how much she’d miss the comfortable domesticity they’d fallen into when she inevitably moved back.  Not for the first time, she wondered what he’d say if she were to ask him…  
  
"That’s nice,” the girl said, interrupting Donna’s ruminations.  "I haven’t lived here long- a few weeks is all, so I don’t know many people in the building yet.”  
  
"Well, the lift seems a good place as any to meet your neighbors,” Donna said, digging in her pocket for the key to Peter’s flat.  
  
"Where does he live, your boyfriend?" the girl asked, readjusting her packages as the lift came smoothly to a halt and the doors began to open. "On the fourth floor, I mean. And my name is Marjorie.”  
  
"Oh, 4A, on the far corner,” Donna replied absently as she stepped out at her floor.  She turned to say goodbye. "It was nice to meet you, Marjorie, and I'm -“  
  
"Donna!" the young woman blurted out as her eyes widened with recognition and she suddenly flushed a deep crimson. “You must be Donna,” she finished, looking at Donna a bit closer, "and you're staying with Peter.”  
  
“Oh, you’ve met him, then?” Donna turned back to ask in surprise.  
  
“Never laid eyes on him in my life,” Marjorie quietly admitted as the doors began to close.  
  
Donna looked at her quizzically. "So how did you know my name and his?”  
  
Just before the girl disappeared from sight, Donna heard her reply. “His bedroom is right below mine."


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Carlisle bit his lip - hard - in a futile attempt to stifle his laughter. Donna glared at him again as she angrily banged about in his kitchen, tossing food into the pantry with abandon.

**Thursday, June 28, 2012  7:35 PM**  
  
Peter Carlisle bit his lip - hard - in a futile attempt to stifle his laughter.  Donna glared at him again as she angrily banged about in his kitchen, tossing food into the pantry with abandon.  When she whirled back to face him with a banana in hand, his amusement exploded forth as a guffaw he could no longer contain.  
  
“I have absolutely no earthly idea why you find this situation to be so amusin', Detective Inspector Carlisle,” Donna fumed as Peter leaned against the cabinet, tears of mirth streaming down his face.  “That was one of the most shamin’ experiences of…my…life!” she hissed, tossing the banana into a bowl on the counter with such force it would only be good for baking.  She rounded on him again, waving an indignant finger in his face, “This doesn’t bother you at all, does it?”  
  
“Weellll,” he hiccuped, trying to reign in his laughter, scratching at the back of his neck and looking at her over the top of his glasses, “while I admit that I regret disturbin' my neighbors slumber, in no way am I remorseful about even one of the amorous encounters anyone might have overheard…”  
  
“ ‘Might?’ “ Donna cried.  “ ‘ **MIGHT**?’ Peter, she knew our names, ferchristssake!“  She dug into one bag and pulled out a small white paper sack.  She hesitated for a moment, then turned back to face him.  “God, what else might she have overheard?  And what if she wasn’t the only one?  Oh, Peter, I don’t know if I can even get in the lift here anymore,” she said, looking down at the bag she'd begun to worry in her hands.  “It’s all right for you- she doesn’t know what you look like, but me?” she said, gesturing absently at her hair.  
  
“Yes, m’ love, ye are unforgettable,” he replied, tucking his glasses into his shirt pocket and stepping closer to lift her hair back away from her face. "No like anyone would want to."  He hesitated slightly, realizing what he'd inadvertently said, but Donna didn't seem to notice. “I’m sorry that ye're embarrassed by this turn of events, though ye’ve no cause to be.”  Donna lowered her head and set the small bag she still held down on the counter beside them without looking up at him.  "I could go upstairs and apologize, if that would make ye feel better?” he offered and he was gratified to see Donna smile slightly and shake her head.  
  
“No, Copper, don’t,” Donna replied with just a hint of her usual humor.  “She's a pert little blonde. If she got one look at you after what she’s heard, I’ve no doubt I’d be defendin' what’s mine with a stick.  A big, heavy one.  Repeatedly,” she smirked, one eyebrow raised.  “Just leave well enough alone.  We’ll just have to be careful in future, is all,” she said, finishing on a sigh.  
  
“I could invest in soundproofing,” he offered, grinning insanely as she rolled her eyes in amazement.  He leaned into her and nipped at the shell of her ear before whispering, “Or maybe a silk blindfold and gag to complement the handcuffs?”  
  
"Policeman!" she cried, feigning horror, her eyes wide, and she just barely checked herself as she started to swat his injured arm. He favored her with a playful leer and kissed her gently, feeling a tremor run through her at his touch.  Donna leaned against him and sighed as Peter began to tease her lips open with sweet, slow strokes of his tongue.  He pulled her closer, forgetting all about reports and neighbors and everything but the woman in his arms, so he was surprised when Donna ducked her head away from him.  He opened his eyes and looked down at her as she pushed him away gently. She fished his glasses out of his pocket before setting them carefully back on his face.  
  
"Go back and finish your work," Donna stated forcefully, her resolve wavering a bit as his face fell.  She smoothed his t-shirt across his chest and added, "Come see me when you're done, Policeman.  We can pick up then where we left off.”  
  
Peter saw the determination in her eyes and realized she wasn't quite ready to be done with being upset. He tried one last-ditch effort to persuade her to change her mind, hunching his shoulders and pouting slightly, but Donna merely crossed her arms and glared at him. Peter finally sighed in defeat and with one quick, chaste peck on her cheek, he began to trudge back to his unfinished report.  
  
With a guilty twinge, she watched him go before sighing in exasperation.  Donna swept the paper sack from the counter and thrust it into his hands. "Here," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. He peered inside and Donna's lips twitched once in reluctant delight when he slipped a lolly out of the bag and beamed sunnily at her.   He gave her another impulsive kiss, missing his mark and landing on her nose and Donna shooed him out of the room, playfully swatting his bum when he tried to loiter.  
  
"There's not a pen or pencil in the place you haven't gnawed on," she tossed at him as he finally began to retreat and she returned to her task, "so you might as well have something proper to suck on.”  
  
Peter’s pivoted gracefully in place, his expression settling into a naughty smirk as he let his glasses slide down his nose.  
  
“Miz Noble,” he began, his voice a dangerous rumble from deep in his chest as he took a step back towards her, but he stopped at her warning look.  He raised one teasing eyebrow and served up his best bad-boy grin with a side order of innuendo as he slowly unwrapped the confection.   He made a show of popping the treat into his mouth with a sultry "Thank ye," as he sauntered- _yes, sauntered_ , she thought, rolling her eyes with amusement- back to his task.  She compressed her lips tightly to hold in a giggle as he added an exaggerated roll to his hips when he finally left the room.  
  
"And don’t finish them all at one go, Policeman.  That bag was meant to last you at least a week!” she called over her shoulder but she couldn't keep the smile from her voice.  "Practice discipline just this once, will you?”

  
**********

  
**Friday, June 29, 2012  11:20 AM**  
  
"Seriously?" Donna squealed happily, shooting up from her desk without thinking and twirling on the spot. "Really?  Today?!?”  She turned round to see Sophie regarding her quizzically and Donna pointed at her mobile phone, mouthing exaggeratedly, "My flat!," before returning her attention to the call.  Her face lit up as she pumped her fist in triumph, all but dancing in place.  
  
“You finished with the sky light, too?  And the extra…?  Oh, Phil, you are nothin' short of brilliant!”  
  
Donna darted over, holding the mobile away from her face slightly and Sophie heard the man’s faint chuckle.  “The security system is in place and foreman called just now to let me know that he completed the renovations you requested.  We should be done this afternoon with construction and I’ll have a clean-up crew in tomorrow morning,” he replied, clearly amused.  "You should be able to move back by tomorrow noon. Want to come by and give it a looksy?  You can sign off on the job and I can show you how to program the security system."  
  
Donna spun to face Sophie and gave her a hopeful look.  The office manager pantomimed considering Donna's unvoiced request for a heartbeat before she smiled and nodded her assent.  
  
"Yeah, I can do that,” Donna replied, grinning her thanks to Sophie.  "What time is good for you?"  
  
"How about ... one-ish?" Phil answered. "I can finish up the paperwork and meet you there.”  
  
"Oh, Phil, you are brilliant, just amazing, you are!  See you then," she enthused before she rang off.  
  
"Sophie, I owe you," Donna crowed with delight, swooping down for a hug before rushing back to her desk to finish up for the day. “Anythin' you want, any time you want, you just say the word!”  
  
“That was quick, considering all you said you were having done to your flat.  So this means you’re going to be staying on your own again?” Sophie ventured, watching closely for Donna’s reaction.  “No more being dropped off in the mornings?”  
  
“If by that you mean no more opportunities for Grace in Customer Relations to ogle my Policeman at every opportunity, then yeah, at least for a little while,” Donna replied, but she was smiling.  “But then again, if everythin’ goes accordin’ to plan?"  She trailed off with a mysterious lift of her brows and returned her attention to clearing off her desk.  "Grace might get to look some more, at least until Iona decides to come back and it's time for me to move on.”  
  
"Iona called earlier this week," Sophie said gently. "With her mum around to take care of the little one, she's thinking of cutting her leave a bit short.  Maybe coming back as early as the end of next month?"  She looked at Donna sympathetically and added, "I hate to think of you leaving, but they could use the money and honestly?  I think Iona's going a bit loopy with her mum underfoot all day.”  
  
"Sophie," Donna responded gratefully, "I appreciate you tryin' to spare my feelin's and all, but Iona’s already called to let me know."  She straightened her monitor and dropped a pencil in the mug on her desk.  It rattled around for a moment before settling and an unconscious smile crept across her lips. She blinked once, twice before forcing herself back to the present. "This all started out as a favor to her anyway. Donna Noble- Super Temp, remember?"  
  
"Yes, but you've become a valuable asset in your own right, and I'd like to think you've become a friend as well," Sophie admitted. "We'll all hate to see you go. If we have a permanent position become available, would you-?”  
  
“No,” Donna said quickly.  "No, but thank you.  It’s gettin’ to be time I moved on.  I’ve been givin' some thought to my situation, and while I love bein’ here, I’m ready for a change,” she confessed.  She flicked the pencil in the mug and watched it skitter around before it settled back in place and she continued.  "I’m makin’ some decisions about my future, some I think will lead to somethin’ lastin’, somethin’ permanent.  It’s gettin’ to be time I made that move.”

  
**********

  
**Friday, June 29, 2102. 6:15 PM**  
  
“Why is it two women meet and the first thing they do is pop off to the loo together?” Ian wondered with a shake of his head, watching Maddie follow Donna as she threaded her way through the crowd at St. Stephens.  
  
Peter smiled and twirled the ice in his glass.  "What, are yer ears burnin’ now, Ian?” he teased.  “There’s no Great Female Conspiracy, mate.  We got here early and that’s Donna’s third lime and soda.”  
  
“Oh, come off it!  The two of them are already chattering away,” Ian retorted, gesturing as they disappeared around a corner.  “They’ll come back with each other’s life stories told and everything about the both of us, to boot.  It wouldn’t be so bad if after they’d share what they learned after, but no!  Ask what they talked about later and all you’ll get is, ‘Oh, you know, just chit-chat!’” he groused.  
  
"They’re just comparin’ notes, is all,”  Peter said dismissively.  "I’ve told Donna a bit about ye and what ye’ve shared about Maddie.  I assume ye’ve done the same?”  
  
“Of course,” Ian replied, frowning.  
  
Peter smiled and set his glass down.  “Well, then.  That’s it.  They’re both seekin’ to independently verify the information freely provided and extend it, if possible.”  
  
“That’s a long-winded way of saying gossiping,” Ian murmured.  
  
"It's actually called the Lost Art of Conversation and much can be gleaned from properly indulgin' in one, occasionally.  I’ve always wondered why we donae have more female detectives, truth be told.  They’d most likely be brilliant at it," Peter mused to himself.  "Oh, and by the way, Donna thinks the world of ye, so no worries there.”  He grinned at his partner and leaned on the table before starting back, plucking at the sleeve of his t-shirt and pulling it away from his arm with a slight wince.  
  
“Should’ve left the sling on," Ian said with a smirk.  “Nice to see you survived the night.  Did she give you the fire and ice treatment?" he teased knowingly.  
  
"Just a bit,” Peter admitted with a shrug.  "We danced around each other early in the evenin', but eventually, we both settled down and talked.  It could have been much worse,”  Peter said with a faint smile, scratching at his ear.  “We’re good.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Ian said sincerely.  “She’s good for you.”  
  
Peter smiled wryly and shrugged again.  ”She’s movin’ back to her place tomorrow,” he murmured flatly, a grimace flashing across his face so quickly Ian would have missed it had he not been looking straight at his friend.  Peter glanced away for a moment and ran his tongue across his front teeth, exhaling heavily before forcing himself to smile.  "Her architect called to say they'd finished the work on her flat today.  She left work early so she could stop in to see on her way ho-” He stopped short uncomfortably, unable to say the word, and looked down into his glass.  
  
“And?” Ian prompted.  
  
“And she’s happy it’s done.  I, on the other hand…” Peter shrugged philosophically.  
  
“You don’t want her to go?” Ian persisted.  
  
“No really. No,” Peter admitted reluctantly.  “But what am I to do?  We’ve only been seein’ each other a few months, if ye think on it.  It’s no like I should have expected her to want to stay with me any longer."  He forced a cheerful tone and added, "She’s thinkin' about holdin' a party after the Olympics to show off the renovations.”  
  
“And you haven’t told her how you feel about her moving out,” Ian guessed.  
  
“It's no movin' out, no really," Peter replied with a quick shake of his head. "She was just stayin' with me awhile. It’s too soon to start talkin’ about makin’ permanent changes to our livin’ arrangements,” he continued, sidestepping the issue.  “I donae want to give her mum any further fuel for the bonfire.  She already suspects me of only seein’ Donna for her money.  If I were to ask her to move in now, without the benefit of matrimony?  Danger and delight grow on one stalk," he said darkly, taking a healthy drink from his glass and pulling a face as he remembered what it contained. He let out a derisive snort.  "I'd never be able to face that woman and it wouldnae be safe to turn my back on her, neither.”  
  
Ian stared at him, skepticism written all over his face, but before he could comment, Peter plunged ahead.  
  
“Besides, we were already spendin’ most evenin’s together, even before….”  He trailed off, unwilling to bring up the issue of her intruder when the man was still at large.  
  
“But you have thought of it, of making your relationship more ... formal?” Ian prodded, and Peter nodded.  
  
“Ye know that I have, and so does she. I've expressed to her some things I’d like for the future: our future, together.  I intend to raise the issue with her again, and soon," Peter assured him.  "Just no today.  I donae want to take advantage of the current situation.  I want her to know what she wants, and to be ready to pursue it with eyes wide open, no just because circumstance threw us together for a fortnight.  The two of us; we’re gonna make this last.  We’ve got time,” he replied with a tight grin.  
  
"Fools look to tomorrow; wise men use tonight,” Ian said with feeling.  “Don’t repeat my mistakes, Peter, not this time.  Don’t wait too long.”  
  
Peter looked askance at Ian then, his lips relaxing into a sly half-smile. “I willnae," he said, glancing over his shoulder then waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  "Speakin’ of time…..”  When Ian didn’t respond immediately, Peter persisted.  “Maddie?  When did the two of ye…?”  
  
Ian studied the label on his nearly-empty bottle for a moment before raising it to his lips and finishing it off at a go.  "She finally gave in and we went to lunch on Sunday. We've spoken or seen each other every day since," he replied with a shrug, setting his bottle down before him with a solid thump.  He signaled for another round, trying to hide his joy behind a facade of nonchalance, all the while knowing that Peter could read the truth on him like a book. "It's a start.”  
  
"That's good," Peter said, nodding his head while toying with his glass. He resisted the sudden urge to look up, to twist around and search the crowd for Donna. "And yer friend, the one she's been livin' with?”  
  
"It's been a purely practical arrangement, apparently,” Ian admitted with a thoughtful sideways bob of his head. "It’s a huge flat in a converted warehouse.  He uses part of it for a photography studio. Seton couldn't afford it otherwise and Maddie wanted to be closer to her work. It's a block from her gallery, over in the East End. It’s a very artsy, up-and-coming sort of trendy neighborhood now, and they’ve smartened the whole area up in advance of the Olympics.”  He nodded his thanks as the waitress plopped another bottle before him and set a fresh drink before Peter as well.  
  
Ian considered Peter for a moment before clinking his bottle against Peter's glass. "Lime and tonic?” he asked as an incredulous note coloured his voice.  "Since when do you and Donna drink lime and tonic?"  
  
"Since Wednesday," Peter replied, with a vaguely longing look at Ian's bottle. " _She loved me for the dangers I had passed, And I loved her that she did pity them_ ," Peter quoted before pulling a face. "As I must abstain, whilst on medication, from the temporary yet tangible bliss that comes along with a good pint, she has insisted that she'll do the same for the duration," he explained.  
  
"Well, then. That's proves it.  It’s true love," Ian chuckled, his smile broadening as Maddie reappeared and swept in for a quick kiss.  
  
Peter smiled at the overt display, then frowned.  "Where’s Donna?” he asked, twisting in his seat to search the room.  
  
“She’s stopped to chat with a friend for a mo,” Maddie explained, gesturing to where Donna stood at a table, her hand resting on the shoulder of a man sat there.  Peter saw her nod in his direction and DS Cave swiveled slightly to see him, inclining his head in greeting.  Peter returned the gesture and raised his glass.  Ian followed his gaze and turned back to Peter.  
  
"You should have heard Caveman regale the office this morning with the tale of how you took on Tippet,” he confided.  “You’ll be in need of a cape and mask to live up to the reputation he's building for you.”  
  
"Is that so?" Peter raised a suspicious eyebrow. "How does he know what happened?”  
  
"He said he could see the two of you by the light at the mouth of the tunnel as he made his approach from the dark," Ian said, then his voice dropped to conspiratorial levels. "He's kept it in line with the report you filed, by the way," he murmured, shrugging in Cave's direction.  
  
Peter’s bottom lip jutted out and he bobbed his head from side to side in consideration, looking between Ian and where DS Cave sat smiling at Donna as she laughed at some jest made by one of his table mates. "I do believe I've divined the identity of Donna's clandestine source of information concerning my health and safety," Peter observed with faint amusement.  "Who'da known Caveman had a soft spot for gingers?”  
  
"You're not angry?" Ian asked.  
  
“As it would've no doubt been worse had she come home from work and found out then,” he shrugged thoughtfully, "no.”  He lifted his glass, and sucked in an ice cube, rolling it about with his tongue as he considered the scene playing out across the pub.  "No harm done, really; no that I want him to make a habit of it," he mused, openly observing their interactions.   Donna leaned in and gave DS Cave a quick peck on the check before heading back to Peter. She bestowed upon him a longer, lingering version of the gesture before plopping down in the chair next to him and opposite Madeline.  
  
"So, Maddie,” Donna said with a grin as she commandeered Peter’s half full glass and took a hearty swig.  “Tell me more about your work."  She giggled at Peter's cry of mock-outrage and handed the glass back without protest before turning her attention back to her new friend.  
  
“I help run a non-profit art collective downtown, the Village Underground?  It’s in a renovated warehouse in the East End, and I’m responsible for the visual art installations.  We can house a bit of everything, though, from concerts to exhibitions to theatre and other types of performances. You name it, we can do it, “ Maddie declared proudly.  
  
“That sounds exhilarating and exhausting all at the same time,” Donna commented, eyeing the other woman shrewdly.  
  
“You’re not wrong,” Maddie said with a laugh, “but it’s never dull.  And you?”  
  
“I spend my days toilin' away with a temp agency.  I’m currently in the middle of a long-term assignment with C&G, just around the corner, down from the Met."  She thumbed over her shoulder and noticed that Ian and Peter had taken their cues from their dates and seemed to be busy rehashing the details of some old case.  
  
“How’d you get started with that?” Maddie asked politely, drawing Donna's attention back. "It must be difficult, never knowing how long a job will last or what you'll be doing, day to day.”  
  
“Weelll,” Donna drawled, shrugging her shoulders, “it’s the temporary part that I found appealin’, actually.  I had a bit of an accident, life changin’, really, and afterwards, I truly didn’t know what I wanted.”  
  
“At first, I was miserable," she confessed, warming to the other woman's openness.  "I was busy just tryin’ to figure out what I was missin’ and what I could do about it. But lately, I think I’m ready for a change.  I’m done with bein’ temporary,” she added with quiet determination.  “I‘m ready to start making the good things in my life more permanent.  I’m not driftin’ any longer,” she said, looking over at Peter with a slightly giddy smile, “and I am **so** done with waitin’.”  
  
“I know the feeling,” Maddie replied with a guilty glance to where Ian had fallen into easy conversation with Peter.  “Personally and professionally, truth be known.”  
  
“How exactly?” Donna asked at the slightly resigned tone she detected in the other woman’s response.  
  
"I've got plans, big things I want for the arts foundation, for artists’ scholarships and living expenses and after school programs, but I've been stalled, stuck in a holding pattern, waiting for my chance."  She smiled in Ian's direction before continuing. "Personally, things are improving. Not so much professionally," she added with a sigh, drawing patterns in the sweat rings her drink left on the table. "Arts funding is always scarce.”  
  
“Why not apply for a grant?  Have you never heard of Noble Endeavors?” Donna suggested lightly, glancing in Peter's direction when he turned her way. She nodded towards Maddie with a questioning look as she tapped on her own chest and Peter replied with a single negatory shake of his head.  
  
“The charitable foundation?" Maddie asked, oblivious to Donna's silent query and Peter's response.  "Yeah, we’ve been trying for funding from them for awhile now, but competition is fierce,” she confided.  “We missed the deadline year before last, but more recently, we almost made the cut.  They told us to tighten up our proposal and reapply next year.”  She looked at Donna quizzically. "Why?  Do you know someone in there?  Did you do some work for them?”  
  
"You could say that," Donna replied with a sphinx-like smile.  
  
"Could you put me in contact with them?" Maddie begged. She leaned across the table, her eyes flashing as she passionately declared, "All I need is a name and a chance to tell them what we propose.  I'm going to move forward, whether we have the funds or not, but if they could help…”  She shook her head, envisioning all the future could possibly hold.  "Oh, Donna, that would be brilliant!”  
  
“How much do you need?” Donna asked, retrieving her mobile left lying on the table when she and Maddie had gone to the loo.  “To do what you want to get your after school arts program off the ground?  With scholarship and livin' stipend packages for, let’s say… a dozen artists?”  
  
“We last requested £300,000 a year for the next five years,” Maddie answered, pursing her lips.  She cocked her head to the side and regarded Donna thoughtfully.  "We think we could become self-funding after that, if we ask the artists who benefited to give back to the program with time and artworks we could auction off."  
  
Donna picked up her phone and nodded to Maddie. "You really think that's enough?" she asked while dashing off a quick text. "How many after school centers would that fund?”  
  
"One in the city center the first year, as we find out what works exactly, as proof of concept, and then we can begin to add others once the initial center has garnered positive results. Donna, it would be a chance to get the community to help itself, to fund what it values, if we can just get it off the ground," Maddie declared passionately, gesturing around.  "I know if I can just get an interview, this can work.  I can make it work.  I just need a chance to pitch it to the right people.”  
  
“You just did,” Donna said tucking her mobile into a pocket, her smile one the Cheshire cat would surely envy.  
  
“Oi!  Pot!  You comin' or do we forfeit?  It’s our turn at the board!” a tall man at the back of the pub bellowed, gesturing at the dartboard. Donna waved in reply.  
  
“Keep your knickers on, Kettle!  Be there in a tick,” Donna hollered back.  She gestured towards the corner where Alec stood impatiently waiting.  “Coming?” Donna asked Maddie as she moved across the pub.  Maddie gaped at Donna in confusion, then nodded as she made to follow.  
  
“Wait...  What…?” Maddie stammered, pointing at Donna’s retreating figure and looking helplessly between Peter and Ian.  “What did she mean?”  
  
“Ian, I fear when our companions met, we both failed to make a proper introduction, did we no?” Peter mused with a lazy smile.  He scratched his neck and with a lift of his chin and his brows, he ceded the task to his partner.  
  
“Madeline Pryor,” Ian announced formally, rising and taking her hand with a slight bow, “you've just had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Donna Noble.”  
  
Maddie looked from one amused face to the other before the implication of Ian’s words came clear.  “Donna….Noble,” she breathed, stumbling back, one arm grasping blindly for the arm of her chair behind her as she sat down heavily.  “Donna ... Noble?” she asked, looking up at Peter with a strange mix of emotions flitting across her face.  
  
"The one and only," Peter replied nodding in Donna's direction. "And, unless I'm much mistaken, ye've just successfully concluded yer private interview with the founder of Noble Endeavors.”  
  


**********

  
**Friday, June 29, 2012  9:45 PM**  
  
"Was it a little too theatrical, do you think, the way I told Maddie about the grant?" Donna wondered, lifting her head from the arm of the sofa to look at Peter sat at the opposite end, her feet in his lap. Her breath hitched as his knuckles dug into that spot just before the arch of her foot and she hissed in pleasure as he slowly inched his way back towards her heel. "I mean, I figured with her bein' in the arts and all, she could stand a bit of drama," she managed to say without groaning.  
  
Peter smiled knowingly and switched to her other foot. "It was a good cause and a grand gesture, beloved," he murmured, concentrating on her reaction as she flexed her hips in unconscious pleasure. "It was worthy of yer passions.”  
  
“Speaking of grand gestures," she moaned, throwing her head back and he promptly obliged by repeating the movement of his fingers across the arch of her foot. "Oh, please, again," she hissed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.  She twisted involuntarily and her breath came in short, halting breaths. "Oh, yeah, that's grand, alright.”  
  
"Would ye classify yer response to this stimulus as passionate?" he queried, lifting her foot to gently nibble on her ankle.  
  
"To you?" she laughed, sitting up halfway and preparing to swat him on the shoulder before she stopped short, remembering his injury. Her smile grew pensive before she looked up into his dark eyes and grinned. "Always, Peter. Always.”  She regarded him thoughtfully, her expression full of wonder and somehow, almost sad.  "You know, sometimes I look at you and I just can't believe I found you.”  She gently laid her palm against his cheek as a single tear trembled at the corner of her eye.  "I'm never this lucky.”  
  
He slid off the couch to kneel beside her, wiping away the errant tear with his thumb as he caressed her cheek.  "There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,” Peter breathed, his voice low and rich as velvet.  He saw mirth dancing in her eyes and paused, waiting for her riposte.  
  
"That's certainly true of yours," Donna quipped, reaching down and patting his bum fondly.  Peter’s eyes darkened at her words and he shifted his weight, wrapping his arms around her as he began to pull her to the floor with him.  Donna resisted immediately.  
  
"You're gonna do yourself an injury, Copper!” she cried, scrabbling in a futile attempt to stay in place.  
  
“Aye,” he replied, arching a brow at her half-hearted effort to stop him.  “If you insist on fightin' me.”  He succeeded in pulling her legs to the floor and swiftly interposed himself between them on his knees.  He leaned over her and kissed the sliver of skin exposed when her shirt rode up, pausing to dart his tongue into her navel.  
  
"Stop it,” Donna protested weakly, reaching down with the intent of pushing him away.  He looked up at her, his eyes slowly traveling up her body and instead, she found her hands clutching at his thick hair instead.  "We can’t,” she stated, but her voice betrayed the war between concern and carnal desire raging within.  "Do you intend to stay on the unfit for duty roster for-?”  
  
"My intention," he murmured into her skin, his hot breath dancing across her hip and fanning the flames of desire threatening to consume her, “…is to divest you of all unnecessary garments and make mad, passionate love to you, here, on the floor.”  He reached up and impatiently swept the couch pillows to the floor, wrenching Donna to the side so that only her upper body still rested on the remaining cushions.  He pressed himself up against her to support her even as he thumbed open the button on her jeans.  
  
“Peter Carlisle, you are the most pig-headed,-“ she declared passionately as he began to tug her jeans down her body.  
  
"Persistent," he interrupted, tapping her bare hip with one long finger and Donna automatically lifted herself up off the couch in response to his unvoiced request.  
  
"- stubborn, -" she continued, unappeased, as his hands ghosted over her bum as he eased the denim from beneath her.  
  
"Singleminded," he countered with a devilish grin. He succeeded in pulling her jeans to her knees and began working them down to the floor.  
  
"- infuriating -" she shrieked when he nipped on her hip, making her jerk her leg up and Peter laughed in triumph as her foot came free.  
  
"Beguiling," he purred in turn, shifting his attention to her other leg.  
  
"- conceited, -“ Donna huffed even as her hands moved automatically towards his hair but at the last possible second, she jerked them back and tried to push him away.  
  
“Confident,” he retorted, tugging her knickers down and bestowing a wet, open-mouthed kiss on her exposed skin.  
  
“- arse -"  she gasped in surprise.  She felt a flood of moisture between her legs in response to his proximity and her cheeks flamed.  
  
"Arse," he repeated, considering before conceding her point with a thoughtful nod.  
  
“- I've ever known!” she concluded, shooting for her customary roar but going wide of the mark.  She was dismayed to hear a quaver in her voice, one she was quickly learning to associate with her own wavering convictions whenever Peter decided to turn on the charm.  She wanted to be angry, right and properly steaming, but somehow, looking up into his eyes, the passion she felt was decidedly more erotic in nature.  And then he spoke again.  
  
“Known in the biblical sense?” he teased, grasping her hips and lightly tracing the insides of her thighs with his thumbs.  
  
“Arse!” she almost screamed, gasping aloud and shoving her fist into her mouth in dismay. _Oh, Lord_ , she thought, _I’ll never be able to visit now without first havin’ to sneak up the fire escape..._  
  
"We've already established that fact,’ Peter said, his smile as dark as his eyes.  He moved back away from the couch and took Donna with him, cradling her as she landed in the pile of cushions and pillows from the couch.  He moved back between her legs, unbuttoning his own jeans and struggling to push them down past his knees.  
  
Donna bit back ruthlessly on a snarky comment-  serves him right, she mused internally, _wearing those jeans snug as he likes_.  She’d caught more than one female, and maybe a few male patrons of St. Stephens checking out the view when they’d arrived, but she couldn’t rightly blame them.  Besides, she was the only one enjoying the sight before her now as he finally managed to free himself from his pants as well.  She shrugged then sat up to help him ease his shirt off over his head before he sank down over her.  
  
"What were those care instructions again, Peter?  No alcohol-“ Donna murmured breathlessly as he kissed his way down her throat, his tongue darting out to dance over her collarbone.  She moaned and the sound of her passion arrowed straight to his groin as her fingers twisted in his thick chestnut hair.  
  
"I didnae have so much as a sip tonight!” he protested, lips fluttering against her skin even as his nimble fingers were working the buttons of her blouse free.  
  
"Which is why, I think, we left so early-“ she gasped breathlessly, writhing beneath him and digging her fingers into that magnificent bum to urge him closer.  
  
"We coulda stayed longer if ye’d wanted,” he countered.  “Ye only had to say.”  He pulled back slightly in delighted surprise when he discovered she was wearing a lovely deep blue bra she must have recently purchased.  He eased a finger beneath the front closure and popped it free before peeling the lace back and freeing her breasts, licking his lips at the sight that greeted him.  
  
"I’m not…,” she gasped as his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot in their travels down her body.  “I’m not complainin’, thankyouverymuch.  I was just makin’ an observation.”  
  
“Hmmmm, gatherin’ information, drawin’ conclusions….” he drawled, lowering himself back down against her.  I’ve said it before, Ms. Noble.  Ye would make a fine detective, if ever ye decide to pursue a change of careers.”  
  
She remembered her original purpose finally and tried to push him back so she could focus on his face.  "Stop trin’ to distract me!” she insisted, but he simply chuckled.  "Oh, Peter, I’m pretty sure this counts as strenuous activity!” she cried out softly in dismay.  
  
"It’s been almost three days…” he cajoled gently, licking a warm path up from between her breasts to her chin.  He stopped to nip at the soft skin there before moving up to capture her lips in a passionate kiss.  Donna moaned, then stiffened in his embrace.  
  
"Peter, that woman, Marjorie!” she hissed.  "She’ll hear us!”  
  
"We're no in th' bedroom, Beloved,” he reminded her, his words slow and warm, his accent thick as molasses.  
  
"Oh, so now she isn't safe from us in any room of her flat, Peter," she gasped, trying and failing to mute her response to his attentions.  
  
"Then we’ll just have to be very, very quiet,” he whispered, holding himself above her, braced on both elbows as he set about driving her mad.  
  
Donna wanted to scream, to beg, but given recent revelations, she knew she shouldn’t.  Even if she did, she knew from hard experience it wouldn't help her at all and would, in fact, prolong this and she honestly didn't know how much longer she could hold out. Slow, languid thrusts between but not into her folds forced another shuddering moan from her as Peter slowly ground his hips into her, cock gliding through the evidence of her arousal and across her aching clit.  
  
She wanted nothing more than to shift her hips to meet his thrusts, to change the angle so that the next time his throbbing cock would slide home, fill her aching need and she could turn the tables on him. But every time she tried to wrap her legs around his slim torso or clutch him to her, he would still between her legs and use his weight and leverage to pin her in place. He would hold her there, trapped in her desire and lavish his attentions on her breasts and neck until she wanted to scream.  
  
"This is sexual torture," she managed to gasp as he ground his hips against her sex and ghosted his lips around her nipple.  
  
“A chuisle,” he breathed, trailing kisses up her neck to her ear, sucking on the lobe before releasing it with an audible ‘pop’.  Peter paused there for a moment before growling, "Ye can take that up with the UN in the mornin’."

  
**********

  
**Note** : A chuisle ( pronounced a khwish-la) is a Scots/Irish Gaelic term of endearment, meaning “My pulse”, from the longer phrase : A chuisle mo chroí, (a khwish-la muh khree) which means “pulse of my heart”.  Gotta love Google.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle  
> Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, for getting me started on this, but all errors are mine alone.  
> First Mate: The lovely serenityslady has officially joined the crew. Thanks for the support and suggestions!  
> Rating: PG for Plot Galore  
> Word Count: 2,545 (Measley for me, but we've already established that brevity is not the soul of my wit.)  
> Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind. I've decided to give up on trying to keep my posts around 5,000 words. Some of my chapters are long. Some of them are short(er). I'm just gonna have to learn to deal with it.

**Saturday, June 30- 10:30 AM**

"Thanks, Phil, really. You are amazin'," Donna said, waving goodbye.  As she shut the front door, she bit her lip and grinned, looking over her shoulder at Peter. "So, what do you think, Policeman?" she asked giddily, spinning around and launching herself towards him as soon as she heard the garden gate close behind the retreating architect.  Peter barely had time to open his arms in time to catch her before she whirled around and caught him by the hand, dragging him towards the stairs.

Peter laughed, infected by her enthusiasm, and followed Donna up the tight spiral staircase to the second floor. Looking around, he had to agree with Donna's assessment- Phil had done miracles with the unfinished space above Donna’s flat in the span of two weeks. Most of the hard wood flooring remained intact, but the large open space had been subdivided into long rooms running the perimeter of the building. The front room had been converted into a light, spacious office with a desk tucked into one of the high dormer windows that overlooked the park.  The other window still contained his favorite reading nook, but for all that, if he hadn't known better, he wouldn't have known they were in the same flat.

The interior walls were paneled halfway up with reclaimed flooring and were topped with large double-paned windows that looked out onto a corridor.  The glass-enclosed passageway wrapped around a large atrium situated at the heart of the building.  The well-appointed space featured a small square fountain, a cosy dining area just big enough for four and was planted throughout with potted flowers and herbs.  Peter stepped inside and looked up to see a transparent louvered ceiling that could be opened to the sky or closed against the elements, depending on the season.  He mentally traced the alarm wires, tastefully hidden in the reinforced metal frame down to the security cameras tucked into the corners of the corridor.  Owing to the glass walls, there was virtually nowhere for an intruder to hide, even if one were to somehow make his way inside.

Donna watched Peter scrutinize the space again as he slowly turned in place, absorbing all the practical details and nodding his satisfaction before he turned back to her.  “It’s beautiful, Donna.  Truly,” Peter said as he bent to trail a finger in the water.  "What was the inspiration for the design, if I might inquire?"

Donna’s cheeks coloured and she smiled self-consciously.  “Don’t laugh, Policeman, but, I saw somethin’ like this when I visited Pompeii,” she admitted hesitantly, moving alongside him to take his hand.  “I went on this tour and I visited a house and it had a space just like this.  I know how daft it sounds, but I was bowled over by the strangest sense of deja vu.”  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning back to him with a shrug.  "There was just somethin’ about the place.  I dunno what it was, precisely, but I aways wanted an atrium like it myself ever after."

"It’s lovely," he said, uncharacteristically subdued, and Donna noticed his smile stopped short of his eyes.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, squeezing his hand gently as her own smile faltered.

“No, course I do,” Peter told her, stepping close to clasp her around the waist. “It’s amazin’ what you’ve done here.” When he lifted a hand to push her hair away from her face, Donna blinked twice and gave a tiny, involuntary start as his fingertips brushed her temple.  It was over in less than a moment, a flickering frame of time, but Peter’s face registered his concern.

“So why the face like a wet weekend?” Donna breathed, coming back to herself and leaning away to study his expression, playfully flicking his fringe.

As an experiment, Peter brushed her hair back again and this time, Donna merely cocked her head with a quizzical quirk of her lips.  He looked into her eyes for as long as he could before he averted his gaze.  He pressed the tip of his tongue to the back of his top teeth and began to toy with her hair, winding one ginger lock absently about his finger.

“I find that I’ve grown accustomed to your presence in my abode, and in my life,” he slowly confessed.  “I've enjoyed knowin’ I was goin’ home to someone…. No, strike that,” he corrected with a sweetly bashful shake of his head.  "I've enjoyed knowin’ I was comin’ home to ye every night.  I’d been thinkin’ that, maybe, I might ask ye to st…”  He broke off, then hauled an apologetic smile in place.  “But seein’ this?” he admitted ruefully.  He looked down at his feet, remembering his father’s dismissal of his prospects when he announced his intention to become a detective instead of a doctor.  "Donna, I cannae give ye the moon and the stars, as much as ye deserve them.”

Donna's heart seized when she realized what he might be trying to say.  She took him by the hand and gently led him out of the atrium and into the front office, stopping in the center of the room.  “Peter,” she said slowly.  “This is for you.  This is your office, if you want.”  She laid a hand on his cheek and lifted his eyes up to hers.  "It's why I had Phil convert the other window seat into a desk, so you could look out over the park while you work. My office's the one over there,” she said, pointing to the adjacent room. When she turned back to him, Peter was startled by the the vivid blue of her eyes and he saw the sparkle of tears there as she continued.  “Peter, I don’t need the moon and the stars.  Don’t you know that you’re the center of my universe?  I don’t need anythin’ else."

"Donna, I cannae-“ he began until she laid a restraining finger on his lips.

“Just hear me out, Policeman. I was gonna save this ’til we’d been goin’ out a bit longer, just to keep my mum from makin’ rude comments, but who am I kiddin’?”  Donna said, throwing her hair back over her shoulder with a sad, defiant smile.  “She’s gonna make ‘em anyway.  This'll make her happy, though, in her own way," Donna considered. "She'll have somethin' to kick up a fuss about with her mates."

“Donna, are ye…?” Peter breathed as the implications of her words came clear.  “Are ye askin’ me to…?”

“Move in, cohabit, 'live in sin',” Donna said, rolling her eyes and making air quotes around the last phrase with a giggle.  She reached up and lightly smacked his forehead.  “Prawn!  Why d’you think I had Phil register your thumbprint in the alarm system, too, when we came in?”

“So I could open the door?” he replied with a wondering shake of his head.

“Yes, you big numpty!  Every time you came home from work!” she laughed.  She sobered suddenly, biting her lip for a moment before she continued.  "Of course, I thought you might want to keep your flat, at least for a bit, and maybe let it out as an investment?”  She looked up at him through her fringe and Peter realized she was hedging her bets with her cautious framing of the invitation.

“Or I could put it on the market tomorrow, sell it and move in here straight away,” he said, without hesitation.  He pulled her to him again and Donna’s eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her slowly, thoroughly and with great care.  Peter leaned back and smiled, then let out a resigned sigh.  “But I shouldnae,” he murmured, disappointment coloring his voice.

“Why?” she asked, suddenly sure that he absolutely should.

"Strategically, that wouldnae be the wisest course of action at this time," he explained. "We’ve been going out nearly three months now-"

"It's been 72 days, 19 hours, 29 minutes and... 42 seconds...,”she drawled, consulting the nonexistent wristwatch she wasn’t wearing, “since I walked into Maison Blanc to meet you for the first time." She grinned at him and cocked her head, waiting for his response.

It was Peter's turn to blink before he broke into a blinding grin.  "Ten weeks, then," he laughed. “Ten weeks of perfect bliss," he continued and Donna really did try to land a punch to his shoulder at that bit of hyperbole.  He caught her hand easily and brought it to his lips. "Donna, I would move in right now, with nary a regret and never look back, save for one thing,” he said gravely.

“Which is?” she prompted as Peter laid his hands on her shoulders.

“Yer mum,” he replied, gazing directly into her eyes.

“What?  What’s my mum got to do with anything?” Donna asked in confusion.

"She's already convinced that I’m only after yer money, that I'm some type of gigolo, and that I'll leave ye at the first opportunity,” he insisted.  "I want to prove that my intentions are honorable and that I plan to be a part of yer life as long as ye'll have me."

"And?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow in invitation to continue.

"And I hardly think she'll give my assertions to the contrary any credence if I were to move in so brazenly.  It’s important to our future that she accepts me, even if she never likes me,” he said with an offhand, unconvincing shrug.

“I don’t care what my mum says, Policeman,” Donna replied firmly.

“Aye, but I do.  She’s yer mum.  I’ll no have our relationship be a point of contention between the two of ye, at least no without makin’ an effort at peace.”  Donna opened her mouth to protest and it was Peter’s turn to silence her with a finger.  "We’ll continue on as we’ve been for a bit longer.  At six months, in September, I’ll officially move in.  That’ll give me time to pack up and start moving over a little at a time and to put the flat on the market.  More importantly, it’ll give your mum time to adjust to the idea, to acclimate herself to the idea of me bein’ a permanent addition to yer life."

“Peter, I love you. And regardless of what you decide, no matter if it's a week or a month or a year from now, I'll only love you more," Donna said, stepping closer and resting her forehead against his.  “It’s just like what they say in the movie, 'When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’ “  Donna watched a slow, sweet smile of understanding spread across his face and rejoiced as the tiny little lines at the corners of his eyes finally appeared.

“Words to live by,” he agreed, then leaned back and looked down at her curiously.  "Which movie would that be, then?” he asked.

"Oh, stop teasin' me, Copper," she laughed, pulling him towards the stairs. “Come on.  I’m hungry and you're buyin'. "

“Lunch is my treat, then," he agreed, " but sorry.  I still donae know the film."

“Oh, you know," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "At the end of  _When Harry Met Sally_?”

"I cannae say that I do,” he admitted.  "I’ve not seen it.”

“Really?” she drawled in surprise, stopping on the stairs to regard him sharply to see if he was having her on.

“Really, really,” he admitted with a smile.

“Oh. My. God!  You haven’t seen  _When Harry Met Sally_?  Well, that’s one thing we’re gonna fix as soon as possible,” she laughed as she continued down the stairs.  "It’s one of my favorite movies.  It’s a romantic comedy about two long-time friends who finally figure out they were meant to be more than just mates.”  She scooped up her bag and her keys and Peter watched with satisfaction as she paused by the door, punching in her alarm code and then activating the system with her thumb print. "You’ll love it.

“I’m sure,” he replied, reaching out his hands and wiggling his fingers in invitation.  Donna slipped her hand into his and they headed down the back stairs for the street below.  “The next time we decide to stay in, ye can rectify the appalling gap in my cultural literacy and bring me up to speed on the romantic comedy genre.”

“Where were ye thinkin' to go for lunch?” Peter asked casually as they reached the corner.

“Did you want to try-,” Donna began, trailing off as she stopped mid-stride, looking right and left in confusion. She turned quickly around, searching the streets, and squeezed his hand tightly.

Peter was instantly alert, pulling her close and looking about warily.  “Donna,” he asked urgently, “what is it?"

“He’s here,” she hissed, her eyes wide with fear.  She clutched her stomach and closed her eyes as a wave of nausea passed through her.  “Peter, he’s here.  I can feel it, he’s here!” she panted, unable to catch her breath properly.

“Who is, Donna?” he demanded, his eyes scanning the park across the street and finding nothing out of the ordinary.  “What is it?"

"Somethin’s not right, I can feel it,” she persisted, stumbling back but keeping a firm grip on his hand.  Peter felt her tremble as she continued to look wildly about but when his eyes met hers again, he saw the fear there had begun to turn to fury.  "We’re bein’ watched!   He… he’s here somewhere.  It’s that bastard from S&G,” she fumed.  “He’s followed me!”  She staggered and nearly fell just as Peter lunged forward and caught her.

“Donna, love, look.  Look around.  There’s no one here,” he murmured as he folded his arms around her.   “Look!”

She screwed her eyes shut against the sensation as the surge of queasiness broke and she could finally breathe properly again.  She ducked her head, resting against Peter for a moment before she stood straight and scanned the nearly empty streets again, one hand splayed across Peter’s chest for stability.  She hunted the street for the source of her disquiet and when she was unable to locate it, Donna moaned quietly and fell back into his arms.

“You’re right, you’re right, oh, Peter, you’re right,” Donna breathed in relief.  She shuddered in his arms and he tucked her head under his chin, whispering quiet words of comfort into her hair as he stroked her back.  He glanced about one more time, still seeing nothing out of the ordinary, and just as he convinced himself that she was mistaken and began to relax, a slight movement high above the street caught his eye.  Peter looked up at the Metro platform just in time to see a long, dark blue coat billow out, caught by the breeze from a passing train.  He tightened his arm around Donna, stroking her hair gently with his other hand to keep her turned away just long enough to give the man in the RAF greatcoat time to step back into the shadows, but not before Peter’s eyes met a pair of ice blue eyes staring down at them unapologetically.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's all settled. We've got a court date now for the Morgan murder, so set Tuesday, the 7th of August down in your diary and let’s go," Ian said, barging into Peter's office without preamble, mobile in hand.

**Tuesday, July 2, 2012- 5:30 PM**

"It's all settled. We've got a court date now for the Morgan murder, so set Tuesday, the 7th of August down in your diary and let’s go," Ian said, barging into Peter's office without preamble, mobile in hand. "Maddie texted that Donna's already been there an hour and our dinner reservations are at 7:30."

Peter nodded distractedly from behind his desk, absently chewing his pen as he stared at the screen, but he made no move to leave. 

"So I'll just text her that we're on our way, then," Ian said, shifting his weight and leaning back on the doorframe.  

"Uh-huh,” Peter murmured absently, “ye do that."

Ian sighed and watched Peter's eyes dart from the screen to the folder on his desk and sighed.  “You do realize that we have two lovely ladies waiting?” he prodded without much hope.

“Yep,” Peter replied automatically,   He cocked his jaw to the side, raising one eyebrow in consternation as he continued to gnaw on the cap of his pen.  He punched in something on his keyboard and peered closely at the screen with a frown.

“OK, DI, let’s be on our way, then” Ian declared even as he surrendered, his curiosity getting the better of him.  He walked around and stood behind Peter, wondering just what had so consumed his partner.

Glancing over his shoulder, Peter held up two pictures for Ian’s consideration.  “Is this the same man, do ye think?” he demanded, watching Ian carefully.

“I suppose it could be,” Ian admitted, taking the proffered images, “but the photos are of poor quality and judging from the clothing of the others in the photos, these were taken years - decades, even- apart. More likely that they're grandfather and grandson."  He peered closer at the photos, comparing them to the surveillance photo still lying on the desk. "Wait just a moment- this one looks like the man who accosted Donna in the department store.  But it couldn’t be… this photo is dated 1941!”

"I think it is," Peter replied, turning in his chair to regard his partner fully, watching as Ian studied the images again with greater intensity. Peter reached for another photo and the fabric of his shirt pressed uncomfortably against his bandaged injury.  He gingerly scratched his arm through his shirt, wincing slightly at the prickling itch that accompanied the healing process.

Ian handed the photos back to Peter, his eyes going wide as he noticed the array of images spread across his partner’s desk.  Each photo contained a face- the same face- circled in red, despite having been taken over the course of what must have been nearly a hundred years.  “DI, who....no, what is this man?"

“I dunno,” Peter admitted, fitting the photos back into place in the collage he was building.  “But he was outside Donna’s flat on the train platform this weekend and somehow, without seein’ him, Donna knew he was there.  It was the second time I’ve seen him. I first noticed him watching us because of his reaction to seein’ Donna with me in public.  I was amused at the time, thinkin’ he was scandalized at witnessin’ our entirely innocent display of affection,” he explained a touch defensively.   He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his belt buckle.  "I revised my assessment, later on, after the confrontation betwixt him and Donna at S&G's.  I thought for a bit that he might be Tippet's man, but no longer. "

Ian reached for another photo, comparing it to the stills taken from the security footage from S&G’s.  “What changed your mind?” he asked wryly.

Peter ignored the comment and continued to think aloud.  “When he accosted Donna in S&G’s, his actions did seem to confirm my suspicions.  After all, the shop girl stated that he addressed her by my name.  But then, if he was there to harm or threaten her, why summon help when she collapsed?” Peter reasoned, scratching at his ear and pursing his lips.  He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes as he continued his soliloquy.  "And why did he let me see him?  Why let me know he’s still watchin’ Donna?  If he worked for Tippet, I imagine he would be tryin' to intimidate me in advance of the trial, but honestly?  I just donae think anyone associated with that thug would be capable of that level of subtly.  No, anyone in Tippet’s employ would be expected to make an overt display, not engage in convert surveillance.” 

He fixed Ian with a determined eye.  “Add to that the sense I got from him that we were bein’ observed. Donna and I were bein’ judged, or analyzed, or, or-“ he broke off, searching for the right word, “or studied even, for some reason.  The man dinnae look meanacin’ so much as curious and perhaps a bit sad,” he admitted, chewing his lip and nodding at the memory.  "So I cast about elsewhere for possible alternatives and, as daft as it sounds, I keep comin’ back to Torchwood.”

"But if it’s Torchwood trying to cover their tracks, why not just make Donna disappear?” Ian asked gravely, comparing a blurry image of a man in what appeared to be a Royal Air Force coat dashing across the Plass in Cardiff to a picture from S&H’s security cameras.  

"I donae know,” Peter admitted, waving his hand at the display before him,"but there are whispers out there, rumors, of sightings of the Grey Phantom.”

“Grey Phantom?” Ian asked, frowning.

“Or sometimes the Blue Phantom,” Peter said, spreading out the small pile of printouts on his desk.  "His coat may change colour slightly, but that’s about the only thing.  The man himself doesnae seem to change, no matter the time.  There’s only a smatterin' of images and drawings, but he’s there, scattered throughout history, if ye know what yer lookin' for.  He’s frequently sighted in conjunction with all manner of strange phenomenon reported to the authorities, all over the United Kingdom, and even abroad on occasion.” Peter tossed Ian a picture of the Phantom standing beside a compact, lethal-looking dark haired woman which appeared to have been taken from airport security. “His presence isnae seen as a good omen, no matter the time or place."

"How’d you find this?” Ian wanted to know, sifting through the pile of photos curiously.

“Alec told me one of our techs has been helpin' beta test some software his brother is developin', somethin’ called Aurora.  It’s biometric software, meant to find known faces in images and compare them to unknown faces in others,” Peter explained.  "On a whim, I asked them to take a look at an image from the security camera.  Turns out they knew him without even havin’ to look.  The team has been searchin’ through historical databases for practice and they kept hittin’ on this same face, again and again.  He’s an enigma in the security community, and they keep track of sightings of the Phantom like bird watchers."

Ian nodded slowly in understanding.  "Another mystery, then, more pieces of the puzzle," he mused. He stood quietly, regarding Peter for a long moment before continuing. “I thought you’d promised Donna not to investigate further,” he finally said as he replaced the images in the folder before Peter.  “I thought that she didn’t want to know about her past any longer."

Peter leaned forward suddenly, his eyes dark and dangerous as he stared at Ian.  “I agreed no to investigate her missing time, yes, but this man?”  He stabbed the folder before him, never breaking eye contact with his partner.  "He’s no in her past.  He’s here, now.  He’s still followin' Donna, and he let me see him watchin’ us this weekend.”  He sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the security image of the Phantom approaching Donna.  He frowned as he tossed it back onto the folder before him.  "It wasnae an accident, it was a purposeful action.  He wanted me to know he was there, and I want to know why."  

**********

 

**Wednesday, July 4, 2012 7:40 PM**

"So I was thinkin', Policeman, once my tenure at C&G is over, I'm gonna take a more hands-on approach at Noble Endeavors,” Donna said, rinsing off a plate and handing it over to Peter to dry.  "Not the established departments, mind, they're doin' just fine on their own. I thought maybe I'd just take a more active role in Maddie's project and help her out?“

“I’m sure your efforts will be appreciated," Peter agreed as he put the plate back in the cupboard. "How much longer will ye be there at Cheltenham & Gloucester, then?” he asked with a considering nod.

“Another two or three weeks,” Donna replied, handing him the last glass as she let the water empty out of the basin.  “Iona’s goin’ a bit stir-crazy, bein’ home with her mum all the time and besides, they could use the extra income with the baby and all.”  She wiped her hands on a towel and wiped up the counter as he replaced the glass in the cabinet.  “Anyway, we have got to move on this, and soon, I told Maddie. We need to build up the momentum, get more local support, make this a real community project. It's the best way to build in longevity, if everyone has some sort of investment in it, in seein it work,” she finished, her eyes fired with determination.  She turned to Peter and found him gazing at her with a wistful smile. 

"What?  What is it?” Donna asked, puzzled at his expression.  "Have I got somethin' on my face?”she asked with a wry smile. Suddenly, she paled and blinked rapidly, looking at him with something akin to panic. "Have I got somethin' on my back?” she demanded, trying to look over her shoulder in alarm.  Her breathing shallowed and, closing her eyes, she shivered.  Peter saw the change come over her and knew she’d slipped out of synch with the present, and he was dismayed but not surprised to see her right hand starting to flutter towards her left ring finger.  He reached out and grasped her hand instead, rubbing his thumb gently across the spot where he had decided she would one day wear his ring.  As if startling awake after a dream, Donna’s eyes flew open and she inhaled sharply.  She stared at his hand on hers for a moment, dazed, before she looked up into his face and broke out in a grin. "What? What is it?" she laughed, and Peter knew she had no idea she was repeating herself.  

"Are ye all right, Donna?" he asked lightly so as not to alarm her. "Ye seemed miles away, Beloved." 

“Sorry?” she asked, frowning slightly at the change in his tone.  She cocked her head to the side, raising one eyebrow with a lopsided grin.  "No, everything’s fine,” she replied, stepping closer and clasping her hands behind his neck.  “In fact, it’s better than fine, it’s brilliant.”

He smiled despite his concern and trailed a fingertip along her jaw.  “We,” he whispered.  “That’s what ye said the other day, in my flat.  When ye were upset by my neighbor, ye said ‘We have got to move’.”

“Did I?" she said, releasing him and blushing slightly as she made to step away. "Well, I was upset, now, wasn’t I?”  She dipped her head and hid her eyes as her curtain of hair swung down between them. 

Peter caught her gently about the waist with one arm and drew her back to him. “And when ye had the alarm put in, ye’d already decided on the renovations upstairs,” he continued quietly, lifting her hair back away from her face with one hand.

“What are you gettin’ at, Copper?” she said, trying for attitude but only achieving slightly breathless.

“I’m simply attemptin’ to ascertain the precise moment that we became ‘We’,” he said before brushing his lips gently against hers.  “It’s another anniversary to celebrate, a chuisle.”

She wanted to roll her eyes.  She wanted to bat his chest and call him bonkers.  She wanted to hide behind bluster and bolshy noise, but when he kissed her again, the raw honesty of his emotions overwhelmed her and all her pretenses fell away.

"Stop it, Peter. Just stop, please?" she finally said, breaking away and blushing furiously.

"Why? Why won't ye tell me, Beloved?" he asked, confused by her reticence.

She ran her tongue over her lips and fixed her eyes on a point above his head. Peter saw the tears standing in her eyes and for a moment, he was sure she was preparing herself to dart away before she sniffed and looked down at her bare feet. "I'm afraid, I suppose," she finally admitted, anxiously chewing her bottom lip.  "I'm afraid of what you might think I expect, from you, from our ... relationship. I mean, it’s one thing to think about what livin' with someone might be like," she explained with a nervous laugh, "but it's somethin' else entirely to have your architect alter your flat to suit your lover without even consultin' him on it."

"Oh, Donna," he breathed, enfolding her in his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin. “ Don't ye know?  Have I no told ye before?  We were always headin' for this," he said and he felt her tremble against him.

“It's like destiny,” she whispered, frowning slightly at the ringing in her ears.  “Like somethin’s drawin’ us together?”

He lifted her chin gingerly.  “Aye,” he replied, slowly brushing his lips across hers.  “We belong together, Donna Noble.  I love ye, now and forever.”

“Forever,” she repeated. “I’m gonna be with you forever,” she said softly, caressing his cheek as a tear finally slipped down her face.  ‘For the rest of my life."

**********

 

**Thursday, July 5, 2012 2:18 AM**

It's hot. 

It's so hot, she's sweltering, roasting in her own juices and she’s certain that she must have drifted off in a sauna. She's sweating so heavily, she's nearly swimming in it. Donna's burning up and she can't escape. It's coming from inside her, swelling around her, engulfing her, sweeping her up and carrying her away. It's terrible and it’s beautiful and she needs it to stop and she wants it to never end.

She hears a voice raised in agonized yearning, wanting her to stay, and horrified that she might try to do just that. She's shaking, violently, and there's something surrounding her, binding her arms to her body, encasing her, entombing her, and just as she's sure she's about to burst into flame, something gentle, something blessedly cool flutters against her temples.  Her eyes fly open as she screams.

**********

Peter opened his eyes slowly, jostled awake by the woman stirring restlessly beside him.  Donna was pushing against him, forcing him away as she tossed and turned, mumbling in her sleep. He blinked slowly and forced himself up, rolling onto his side and bracing himself on one elbow as he tried to determine what was happening.  Was she having a nightmare?  He watched her in her sleep as a tiny frown creased her face and her chin trembled.

“Donna,” he said quietly as he reached out to stroke her cheek. She seemed to be glowing faintly, enveloped in a pale golden haze and he blinked in confusion, looking around for the source of the light.  She shuddered violently and her breathing hitched as she turned away from him, mumbling, still trapped in her mind.  Peter frowned when she continued to push away from him and he heard her breathing become erratic.

"Love, wake up," he said a bit louder, fumbling awkwardly for the bedside lamp before he remembered they weren't in his flat. He could feel the heat pouring off her as he reached across to turn on the light and he was momentarily shocked by what he saw.  Donna stirred restlessly beside him, jerking her head from side to side. She was flushed and her hair was dark with sweat, sticking to her face and molding itself to her neck as she fought against the blankets binding her.  She began to thrash about desperately, tangled up in the sheets and straight-jacketed in. Peter flung off the blankets covering them to find her drenched in sweat and shivering, her hands flexing convulsively as she continued to writhe and moan.

“Donna, wake up.  Please, Love,” he pleaded, reaching over to grasp her shoulder.  He gave a gentle shake and she whimpered, her soft cry becomming a groan when his fingers wrapped around her arm.  Donna twisted away as if burned by his touch and she gulped down air in great, hiccuping sobs.

“No.  Oh my God, I can’t….,” she muttered, turning away from him frantically. Fearing that she was having a seizure brought on by what must be a raging fever, Peter fought down his growing panic when Donna failed to respond to his efforts to rouse her. He twisted around to face her, reaching out to stroke her damp hair away as he leaned in to press his lips to her forehead.

“Come on, Love, wake up,” he murmured as he pulled her up and into his arms.  Her head lolled back and as he shifted her body so that she lay cradled in his lap, he realized she was mumbling, chanting a desperate plea.

"No.  No.  No, don't make me…,” she cried and the rest was lost as she fought weakly against his arms around her.  "Doctor, please, please don't make me…” Donna pleaded, her voice rising with her desperation and Peter frowned, unsure of what he'd heard.  He brushed her fringe back out of her eyes and tried to sooth her, his long fingers framing her face with a gentle caress.

“Donna, look at me,” he begged and before he could say another word, she shot away and was gone from his embrace.

"No!" she shrieked, sounding as if the cry was torn from her very soul. Donna scrabbled back frantically and slammed herself against the bedroom wall, and even as he reached for her again, he knew she was still asleep. "I said no," she declared, one hand braced against the wall behind her and the other flung out to stop his advance. She stood there, panting, nearly vibrating with fury and despair and this time, there was no mistaking the light he saw dancing in her eyes like St. Elmo's fire.  "I begged and I pleaded and I. Said. No," she accused as she slumped back against the wall.

"Donna, I donae understand," he said, reaching out for her but not stepping closer. "Ye're no well, Love.  Let me help ye."  At the sound of his voice, Donna inhaled sharply and confusion shimmered across her features. She blinked hard, staring at the bandages that still covered his upper arm.

"But...but...?" she stammered and he saw her eyes clear as the terror receded along with the dream. "...Peter?" Donna whispered in a small, fragile voice. The tendrils of gold that danced around her head like a halo dimmed as she dropped her hand and the first tear fell when he surged forward to embrace her.

"I said no," she sobbed, reaching out for him and guiding his trembling hands back to her face. She closed her eyes in relief when his fingers settled gently at her temples, and as her knees gave way, he guided her gently to the floor.

"Peter, I said no," she repeated as she looked up into his eyes and willed him to understand. "I said no...."  He felt her shudder again and just before she slipped away into oblivion, he heard her whisper, "and he did it anyway."


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus far, the summer of 2012 had been the wettest on record in over one hundred years, the meteorologist had said, and Peter Carlisle believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle  
> Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, for getting me started on this, but all errors are mine alone.  
> First Mate: The lovely serenityslady has officially joined the crew. Thanks for the support and suggestions!  
> Rating: PG for Plot Galore and A for a whole parking garage chock full o' Angst  
> Word Count: 4,208  
> Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind. This was not beta'ed in any way, shape or form, as my beloved Serenityslady is recovering from an exhausting jaunt through the Magic Kingdom, so yeah- expect to find errors.

**Wednesday, July 11, 2012 8:45 PM**  
  
Thus far, the summer of 2012 had been the wettest on record in over one hundred years, the meteorologist had said, and Peter Carlisle believed it.  As a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, he looked up at the heavens and reflected on the improbable chain of events that led up to this moment with him standing alone in the dark.  
  
Almost a week had passed since Donna had bolted awake, hallucinating and burning up with fever before she'd collapsed at his feet. He’d gathered her up and darted for the bath down the hall, eschewing the enormous tub for the immediacy of the shower but as he stepped inside, he knew her fever was gone even before the first drop fell. Donna had gasped and flailed about in confusion as he'd stood them under the cool, gentle spray, but when she had realized where she was, she'd settled in his embrace, stunned and bewildered.  
  
"What happened?” she had asked, then she'd started back suddenly, pushing him away to arms length to peer into his face. "Tell me you didn't call-?"  
  
“No,” was all he had said, gathering her back into his arms as Donna had relaxed against him. Peter had had no desire to subject her to another unwanted visit from the EMT, primarily because there was no natural condition he’d ever heard of that could explain the incandescent glow that had faded from her eyes and the streamers of light he’d seen dancing around her body.  Instead, he'd vowed to himself to find out everything he could about the mysterious Phantom he’d seen shadowing them. He was certain the man knew what had happened to Donna to leave her in the state she was in and he had resolved to do whatever it took to put her to rights again.  
  
Peter was glad to have an ally in Ian and they’d begun having dinner with Donna and Maddie early in the evening.  Afterwards, Maddie and Donna would venture downtown to the studio to make plans for the launch of Urban Scrawl and Peter and Ian excused themselves, ostensibly to review case notes for their upcoming court appearance.  Once Ian’s mother got wind of the real nature of their work, however, unmarked packages of documents began to be delivered by anonymous couriers.  When Peter entered Ian's flat that evening, the evidence of her most recent efforts lay spread across the kitchen table.  
  
“Harkness,” Ian had said quietly.  “His name was… is … Captain Jack Harkness, and by all accounts, he’s a dangerous man to know.”  Ian had pushed a folder across the table with a significant look as Peter took it. “He used to head the Torchwood office out of Cardiff, but according to this, he was killed in that explosion back in 2009 that nearly destroyed the Plass.”  
  
“That’s no possible,” Peter had replied as he'd snatched up the file and taken a seat at the table. "Unless the man has a twin. I just saw him..." He trailed off as he began to read and Ian could see the tension build in his friend the longer he remained silent. By the time Peter laid the folder back on the table, he was grimly determined to keep Donna safe and though he’d be loathe to admit it, even to himself, Peter Carlisle was very afraid.

 

 

**********

**Wednesday, July 11, 2012 11:55 PM**  
  
The rain pelted down hard and cold as he left Ian's flat and Peter paused in the vestibule for a moment, hoping for the downpour to lessen.  After a few minutes, with the deluge giving no indication that it had the slightest intention of letting up, Peter decided there was nothing for it.  He surrendered to the elements, flipped his collar up against the wind and dashed across the street for the garage opposite.  He was, of course, precisely halfway across when his mobile rang in his coat pocket.  
  
As he darted into the shelter of the car park, he dug in his pocket for his keys with one hand and retrieved his phone with the other.  As he made to answer the call, he glanced at the screen and one eyebrow raised in question at the display - someone was calling his personal mobile from an unlisted number. Shaking the rain off his coat as best he could, Peter swiped a thumb across the screen and opened his mouth to speak when a deep voice behind him cut through the gloom.  
  
“Detective Inspector Carlisle, I have information vital to your future,” the man announced, an American by the sound of the corn-fed beef accent.  Peter froze in place, every sense on high alert as he tried to determine the precise location of the speaker.  
  
"If you want to remember this exchange, do not turn around,” the voice continued, this time from somewhere off to his right.  Peter was swiftly cataloging his options for response when the man spoke again.  “You think Torchwood had something to do with Donna Noble’s memory loss, DI.  You’re wrong."  
  
Peter's reaction was immediate and violent. “Who are ye and what do ye know of Donna?” he demanded, his head jerking around as he scanning the car park. "How’d ye know I was goin’ to be here?  How'd ye get this number?”  He pivoted tightly on one foot as he continued to search the dark.  
  
"I said don’t turn around," the voice warned from the shadows. "You’ve been given one warning- you won’t get another.  Do not turn around if you want to hear what I have to say,” said the voice, behind him again and slightly closer and Peter knew when he did turn, he’d be face to face with the Phantom.  The only uncertainty in his mind was what the color of his coat would be.  
  
"Do not go looking for me if you want to remember anything about this conversation,” the voice continued, low and deceptively casual. The voice fell to deliver the next statement as an ominous warning.  "Stop the investigation of Torchwood if you want to remember Donna Noble at all."  
  
"Is that a threat?  You’d make me forget her?” Peter snarled, facing the voice in the dark, shoving his mobile roughly into his pocket before clenching his hands into fists.  "I'd like to see ye try."  
  
"Don't play games with me, Detective Inspector Carlisle. You will not win,” the Phantom continued smoothly.  "I can make you forget her, and you know it.  I could make you both forget, if that’s what I wanted,” the man continued conversationally and Peter's blood ran cold at his blasé demeanor.  “I can take Donna back four months, before you, and let her life continue from that point.  To her, it would be as though you'd never existed.”  
  
Peter shook with the effort not to launch himself into the dark and forced himself to remain calm.  He senses were on high alert and he turned suddenly towards the sound of certain, deliberate footsteps approaching.  
  
"But that's not what I'm here to do."  
  
Peter saw a swirl of blue emerge from the dark and he couldn’t stop the random thought that this man must stand in front of a mirror and practice to effortlessly achieve that effect.  His suspicion was confirmed when the Phantom stopped before him so precisely that a beam of light illuminated his eyes and made his fringe glow whilst casting the rest of his face in deep shadow.  "That's not what I want."  
  
His patience was stretched beyond the breaking point and Peter Carlisle was in no mood for games. "Och, spare me yer bloody fuckin' theatrics, ye stupid arse, flappin' about in that coat like some great overstuffed Muninn,” he snapped, glaring daggers at the man before him.  
  
At that, Captain Jack Harkness stiffened slightly, one eyebrow raised in disbelief while the other dipped low in faintly-amused chagrin. He shook himself slightly and looked back at Peter just as the Scotsman launched into another volley of abuse.  
  
"Has no one never pointed out yer complete lack of stealth as ye go poncin' about in that getup?" Peter demanded.  He looked Jack over dismissively and snorted his disdain." It's no Harry bloody Potter's bloody invisibility cloak, is it now?”  
  
"Nice range of literary allusions, there, DI," Jack mused, scratching his ear as he surveyed his own coat. _He's got a point,_ he mused internally before fixing Peter with a flinty stare.  "Muninn, Odin's raven in Norse mythology, whose name translates to Memory.”  He took a single, menacing step forward.  "So I take it you know who I am.”  
  
"Of course, ye great peacock," Peter spat back with special emphasis on the last syllable.  "I've seen ye spyin' on us several times.” He took a matching step forward and planted his feet shoulder-width apart in a defiant stance.  "Captain Jack Harkness, rumored to be the head man in Torchwood, Cardiff Bay.  Rumored to be ‘highly dangerous',” Peter declared, thrusting his hands deep in his pockets and rocking back on his heels with a sneer. He pulled out his mobile and thumbed it to life, turning it so that Jack could see.  “Donna texted me yer picture from Sanderson and Grainger that day ye were stalkin’ her in the lingerie section.  Not exactly blendin' in with the crowds, now, were ye?”  
  
Jack looked cooly between the image on the screen and the man holding it aloft and Peter recognized the signs of a man controlling his reactions.  "Cannae have it both ways, mon,” he goaded.  "Make a commitment.  Be inconspicuous or go about lookin' like a matinee idol in a RAF propaganda poster."  
  
Peter thought he might have detected the hint of a smile before the other man regained his composure and settled back into his faintly menacing persona.  "There are those who feel that your involvement with Ms. Noble is ill-advised," Jack said as he strolled closer, hands resting in his own pockets, consciously mimicking Peter.  "I have one specific ... " he paused, then shrugged before resuming his statement, "colleague ... who is convinced that your continued relationship will compromise her-"  
  
"Stuff you and yer colleague," Peter snarled, pointing at Jack with a dead-steady hand. "Stay the bloody hell out of our lives."  
  
"Whoa there, Tiger," Jack drawled, raising his hands abruptly and stepping back. “Believe it or not, I'm actually on your side in this matter."  Peter did not look convinced but remained silent, so Jack quickly continued. “Look, I was tasked with protecting Donna…Noble.”  He tacked on her last name in an effort to distance himself from her, but when Peter cocked his head to the side and peered at him curiously, Jack realized his slip had not gone unnoticed.  He raised his chin and blustered on as though nothing was amiss.  “I’ve been watching her for awhile now, both with you and without, and I feel my colleague is being overcautious.”  
  
“Ye,” Peter stated flatly, looking Jack up and down before staring pointedly at his footwear," and yer colleague have been stalking’ her, ye mean.  Yer shoe size doesnae match the prints found at the scene, so it must have been yer colleague in Donna’s flat and, by extension, in my offices.”  He looked up just in time to catch the flicker of confusion that crossed Jack’s face before he remembered himself and the beautifully bland mask fell back into place.  “Oh, so ye werenae aware that yer colleague had been a tad bit aggressive in his observation, eh?” Peter deduced, damping down his own triumph as Jack’s cheek twitched once in consternation.  
  
Jack tried to rally again and announced with as much bravado as he could muster, "I've been searching for the proper time and place to speak with you, Detective Inspector, and -”  
  
“Och, aye?” Peter interrupted sarcastically.  “Let’s the two of us get down to the heart of the matter, if it’s all the same to ye.”  He shifted his weight back and crossed his arms across his chest.  “ 'Cos I see yer gob flappin’, but I'm still waitin' for some bit of truth to emerge from it."  
  
Jack stood still for one long moment, visibly weighing up his alternatives.  He nodded once and stroked his chin, looking up as he made his decision.  "All right, DI.  I’ll tell you everything I can,” he offered before raising one finger and pausing dramatically.  “If you"ll do just one thing for me,” he added seriously, still holding his hands where Peter could see them. Peter stared at him, then nodded almost imperceptibly and Jack accepted the invitation to continue. "Turn your mobile off," he said as he cautiously lowered his hands and returned them to the pockets of his trousers. He eyed Peter expectantly and waited for him to comply.  
  
Peter glanced at the screen then pressed the power button, turning it again so Jack could see that it was powering down.  "I warn ye, I'm armed," Peter lied as he pocketed his mobile again.  To his surprise, Jack merely smirked.  
  
"Gunshots I can handle,” he said with a laugh.  "Bloody Twitter, on the other hand….”  He shrugged and an honest smile crossed his face before Jack remembered himself.  He squared his shoulders and sighed before he tried again.  
  
“DI Carlisle, I do not say this lightly or out of malice- you’re too dangerous for Donna on your own, by the look of you.  The fact that she’s survived this long in your company is nothing short of miraculous.”  Jack paused as he waited for a reaction from Peter that didn’t come, though he could see it building.  He hurried on while he still had the chance.  "My concern in this matter is only for Donna's safety.  Know this- her condition is monitored, but no one will interfere in her life as long as her health isn’t compromised. Torchwood is in no way responsible for her current condition, but she is under our protection. You have my promise that we will do everything possible to keep her safe."  
  
"Ye're the ones monitorin' Donna's physical condition, yeah?  Every time she's had an episode, ye’re the ones checkin' up on her.  Ye donae know what that's doin' to her.  Ye donae have to watch her tremble on the edge when somethin’ jogs her memory,” Peter spat angrily.  He frowned at the memory of Donna writhing, unconscious, in his arms.  "Ye donae have to listen to her cry out in her sleep.  Ye. Do. No. Care,” Peter accused, advancing on Jack.  “Ye’ve left that bit of clean up to her family.  To her friends.  To me,” he said, lowering his head and glaring up at the Captain from under knitted brows. He cocked his head to the side and added, “But ye know what happened to her, do ye no?  Ye know what happened, what causes that light.”  
  
“You’ve seen it?” Jack murmured in shock as a thousand million possibilities danced about in his head.  “You’ve seen it and she’s still alive?  She’s still her?” he clarified and Peter, sensing a breakthrough, persisted with his line of inquiry.  
  
“Captain Harkness, it burns her, did ya know?” he hissed, moving closer.  He lowered his voice and pressed on.  “Did ye know, after whatever he’s done to her to cover his tracks, she burns with fever and every time, I cannae do naught but hold her and pray.  **He’s** done that do her,” Peter insisted, “but you can make it right.  Tell me what ye -"  
  
"I can't tell you what you want to know,” Jack cut in, and to Peter’s surprise, the Captain looked remorseful.  “And even if I did, as clichéd as it sounds, the truth is so strange, you wouldn't believe me."  Peter scoffed at his words and started to retort but Jack wasn't through.  
  
"Know this, DI Carlisle," he continued, lifting a hand to forestall Peter’s imminent tirade. "Donna Noble was, for a brief time, the most important woman in the Universe, and I mean that literally.  You should accept her memory loss as the gift it is to you.”  
  
Peter raised an eyebrow in indignation.  “A gapin’ hole in yer memory is a gift?” he declared incredulously, frowning in confusion as he waved a hand about in the air.  “Wakin’ night after night from nightmares that ye cannae even remember, much less explain?  Wonderin' what happened to years of your life, livin’ with the fear that it might happen to ye again with no warnin', and ye act as if we should be grateful?”  He shook his head and looked at Jack as though he were mad.  
  
"What happened…,” Jack began and he looked down, unable to meet Peter’s gaze.  He swallowed hard before beginning again.  “What happened was an accident, I promise you.”  He looked back up suddenly and almost pleaded with Peter to understand.  "If he could have thought of any other way -"  
  
“So it **was** his doin’, then,” Peter interjected drily, nodding as Jack confirmed his darkest fears.  He inhaled deeply and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Whatever happened, it was down to him.  Another mark in the ledger for the good doctor when I finally call him to account,” Peter muttered.  
  
At his words, Jack blanched and blurted out, “What?” before he could stop himself.  
  
“Do me the courtesy of no playin' the fool, Captain,” Peter said with a sniff of disdain.  He rolled his eyes and continued his own explanation.  "Doctor Smith.  He was in Donna’s home, the Night of the Planets. She remembers him bein’ there when he abandoned her,” Peter spelled out for the benefit of Jack. “She’s been lookin’ for him ever since, hopin' he could sort out what happened and fill in the blanks for her.” Peter’s eyes lost focus for a moment and he shifted uncomfortably, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck.  Jack watched as the other man clasped his shoulder and when he continued, Jack detected a trace of fear in his gaze and a touch of panic hidden beneath the anger in his voice.  "She was lookin' for him the night we met.  She thought I was him, from across the street.”  He shook his head in disgust and wiped a hand across his face.  "And after ye confirmed that he’s the reason for all that’s happened to her, I’m glad she doesnae remember him.  He knows where she is and he cannae be bothered with even seein’ her in all this time?  Callous bastard…” Peter muttered.  
  
Jack regained his composure and continued.  “You’re wrong. You’re wrong about him, and about me,” he protested.  "I’m here for Donna’s benefit.”  
  
“You’re protectin’ him, more like, after what he did to her,” Peter erupted.  "Who is he, and why is he important enough to warrant protection from his actions?  Ye do know what he did, to her, do you no?” he charged and as he saw Jack’s discomfort flit across his face before disappearing behind that confident mask, he risked probing a bit deeper.  "How does it feel, Captain?" he sneered, turning a contemptuous eye on Jack.  “How does it feel to be, for all intents and purposes, the custodial staff for a man who preys on women, cleanin’ up the wreckage he leaves behind?  To go about doin’ damage control for a common rapist?”  
  
Jack’s eyes widened in disbelief.  “What?” he spat.  “What?  You think he…?”  Jack stood his ground, outraged on the Doctor’s behalf.  "I don’t know what you’ve heard to make you think that, but believe me, he would never force himself-"  
  
"Nah, I've had more than enough of yer gobshite,” Peter scoffed, turning viciously on Jack.  "It's yer turn to listen. Stop shieldin’ Dr. Smith, because his day of reckonin’ is comin’.  Donna Noble is under **my** protection,” he declared.  He advanced on Jack, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest.  “ **I** am warnin’ **ye**.  Stay out of **my** way,” he growled, his lip curling in disgust.  "Ye so much as think of touchin' a single strand of her hair and some unlucky policeman somewhere will be standin' over yer body in a dark alleyway, tasked with investigatin' yer murder.”  He stood back once more and crossed his arms over his chest, fairly radiating barely-contained wrath.  "Am I clear?"  
  
“Crystal,” Jack replied, crossing his own arms over his chest and leaning against the column now at his back, knee akimbo and feet crossed at the ankles, the very picture of cool nonchalance.  "I've just got one question for you, Detective Inspector Carlisle, and I’ll be on my way. I promise that you’ll never see me again,” he assured Peter with a pleasant smile.  
  
Peter regarded him for a long, dangerous moment, while curiosity, his greatest strength and his abiding weakness, gnawed at his soul. Reluctantly and against his better judgement, he finally inclined his head towards Jack.  
  
"Why Donna Noble?” Jack asked in that same, casual tone.  
  
"My private life is my own," Peter stated flatly and Jack took note as he saw the other man’s fist clench. "It's none o' yer concern.”  
  
“For now, I'm making it my concern,” Jack retorted with dangerous calm as he regained the upper hand. "So I'll ask you one more time- What does a man like you see in a woman like her?”  He flicked his coat back to put his hands in his trouser pockets as he casually strode back to where the DI stood.  He watched as Peter almost vibrated with rage and he smiled conspiratorially.  "She’s quite a mystery, isn’t she?” he added, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Peter snarled, the Scottish in him flaring dark and deadly.  "Don't think, for one-single-moment, that I'll allow ye to so much as touch her. Ye stay the fuck away from Donna, ye understand?”  His hand shot up and he stabbed the air between them accusingly.  "I'll no stand for her to be hurt by ye and yer lot again.  Stay out of **our** lives,” he demanded, dropping his hands to his sides and glaring at Jack in defiance.  
  
Jack nodded thoughtfully, a bit ashamed of himself as he watched the other man seethe, but he had his answer.  “DI, for what it’s worth, I am sorry,” Jack confessed as he stepped close to Peter.  He almost chanced laying a hand lightly on Peter's arm but thought the better of it.  Jack looked directly into Peter’s eyes and sighed deeply.  “DI Carlisle, as far as you're concerned, Donna's loss is your gain,” he said.  He looked Peter over and with a bit of a lopsided smirk he, he added, "And hers, too.”  He sobered suddenly and continued.  "If what happened ... hadn't, … she wouldn't be here now.”  Peter’s expression didn’t change as he waited for Jack to continue and the Captain finally lost his patience.  
  
“Look,” he cried in exasperation, throwing up his hands and turning away as his coat tails flared around him.  He swung back to Peter and in two long strides, he was before him again.  "If she still had her memories, you wouldn't have her in your arms.  Trust me when I say there is no way on Earth you two would have even met,” he disclosed.  Peter’s eyes searched Jack's face but otherwise, he gave away no response.  "You're good for her, man.  Anyone can see that,” Jack admitted and there was that touch of sadness Peter had seen in him before.  "Isn't that enough for you?  
  
“What do ye want?” Peter finally ventured.  “Why are ye really here?"  
  
"I want....,” Jack declared passionately before he stopped and swallowed hard. He considered his words carefully before continuing in more measured tones.  " **We** want Donna to be safe, and to be happy.  I…. **We** owe her that."  
  
"Captain Harkness, what were they?" Peter demanded reflexively before he had time to consider, but for the second time, Jack saw real fear in the other man's eyes. "To each other, I mean.  Were they ever.. more than colleagues?” Peter hazarded and Jack took pity on him as he realized how difficult the subject must be to broach.  
  
He looked at Peter closely, then shrugged, knowing there was no right answer. "Does it matter so much? It's you she loves,” he finally mused with a melancholy air.  "It's your hand she's holding. It's your life she shares.”  Peter didn’t respond, didn’t speak or move, and Jack couldn’t get a clear reading on him as Peter shuttered his expression.  He realized their one and only interview had been concluded and took the opportunity to study Peter up close while the other man was preoccupied.  
  
"The resemblance really is quite remarkable,” Jack observed and Peter jerked his head back up as he was jarred from his contemplation.  "You and Donna Noble, together,” Jack continued, backing away, and Peter heard the tone of his voice change slightly, becoming wistful and almost playful.  “I can’t tell you what I’m thinking right now, but I wish we could have all met under different circumstances.” As he melted away into the shadows leaving Peter alone in the night, Jack called out his farewell.  "Good luck, DI Carlisle.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The TARDIS materialized among the trees on Turnham Green, across the street from Donna's flat, amidst a swirl of leaves and the groan of machinery that was ancient before mankind learned to walk upright. As the door was thrown wide and the Doctor prepared to rush out, a dark shape stepped from the shadows, barring his way.

**Last Thursday, July 5, 2012 2:20 AM**  
  
The TARDIS materialized among the trees on Turnham Green, across the street from Donna's flat, amidst a swirl of leaves and the groan of machinery that was ancient before mankind learned to walk upright.  As the door was thrown wide and the Doctor prepared to rush out, a dark shape stepped from the shadows, barring his way.  
  
"So, Doc- tell me. Are the stories true?” Jack Harkness asked in a jaunty tone, his hands in his pockets as he stood fast in the doorway.  If the Doctor had taken a moment to look, he would have seen the smile the Captain wore seemed a bit forced and came nowhere near his eyes.  "Can Time Lords control their regenerations?  You know, determine their appearance at will?” Jack persisted.  
  
"Get out of my way, Jack," the Doctor demanded angrily. He thrust out a hand, locking his elbow in place as he prepared to push past.  "Donna needs me."  
  
"No, she doesn't," Jack stated calmly, bracing himself against the TARDIS doorframe.  He glanced down at the Doctor’s hand splayed against his chest, then back to the Doctor’s face. "She’ll be fine."  
  
"Jack, you don't know what is going on, right here, right now, what the readings indicate is happening to Donna,” the Doctor snarled, gesturing wildly behind him at the TARDIS console with his free hand. He pushed against Jack frantically, crying, "She has only minutes to live!  Now get out of my way-"  
  
Jack lifted his chin in quiet defiance and looked down his nose at the agitated Time Lord. "Check your readings again, Doc," Jack insisted calmly, stepping into the TARDIS and forcing the Doctor back.  
  
"What?  What are you playing at?" the Doctor protested, trying to dance around Jack. "Donna is in terrible-"  
  
"Check your readings again," Jack repeated slowly, with the air of an adult repeating instructions to an agitated, impulsive child. "Check your readings again and then answer my question," he insisted with a hint of impatience beneath the calm as he stepped aside.  
  
The Doctor scowled at Jack for a moment before he thrust the sonic screwdriver through the TARDIS doorway, pointing up in the direction of Donna's bedroom. With a sniff of impatience, he jerked the sonic back before him, sparing a cursory glance at the readout as he prepared to swing about self-righteously when something strange registered mid-pirouette. He continued his spin 360 degrees and arced his arm around, full circle, training the sonic on the building across the way yet again.  
  
"She's moved," the Doctor muttered to himself as he snatched the sonic back and studied the display. "In her current condition, she shouldn't be capable of that." He stepped outside and swept his arm up and down, shuffling forward and pointing the device at Donna’s flat once more.  
  
The Doctor pulled the sonic back and peered at it before he turned and dashed past Jack into the TARDIS. "Based on my earlier reconnaissance of the premises, she seems to have moved from the bedroom to the bath, and at a fairly quick pace," he mumbled, darting to the TARDIS console and checking the readouts. He swung around to the opposite side, his boots scrabbling madly on the glass floor for purchase as he grabbed hold of the monitor and pulled it closer.    
  
Jack took advantage of his distraction to look about the control room with an appraising eye.  He pursed his lips and bobbed his head from side to side as he considered the bright, shiny space around him, comparing the current control room to his memories. "I like what you've done with the place," he finally decided. "It suits this new you, somehow. Bright and shiny at first glance, but there's a lot just below the surface, if you take the time to look," he said.  
  
He took a sudden step back, staring through the floor as he craned his head about, trying to get a better view of the space beneath the console. "Is that a cradle down there, Doc?,” he asked, stunned.  "I mean, I realize you and the old girl are close, but suspension bondage?”  He stood back and chewed his lip for a moment before he let out a low whistle.  "This new you is a bit kinky.”  
  
Engrossed as he was in reconciling the current readings on the sonic with his original data set, the Doctor ignored Jack completely.  
  
"Not that I'm knocking the previous model, mind,” he mused, remembering a Doctor who was charming, cheeky and seemed perhaps a bit more confident. He ran a finger across the console controls and looked for anything that looked familiar.  He sniffed and sauntered around the console to stand next to his new/old friend.  “Though I think I miss the organic, steampunk vibe a bit. I quite liked the coral and the round things. Sort of felt like I was inside a giant sea urchin. You never did explain what the round things were for…”    
  
The Doctor continued to act as though Jack wasn’t there.  "She's stabilizing,” he breathed with a curious mix of gratitude and incredulity.  "There was a spike, Jack, one of dangerous, almost certainly deadly proportions, but it's dissipating. She's almost entirely normal again.”  The Doctor verified the readings one more time, until, satisfied that Donna was safe, he turned accusingly on Jack.  "And you knew,” he said with an air of quiet menace.  He advanced, his eyes dark and dangerous as the former Time Agent stood his ground.  "You knew this would happen, Captain.”  The Doctor settled into a state of almost preternatural calm as he came face to face with Jack, his eyes level and unblinking.  "Explain yourself."  
  
“I’m just doing what you asked me to,” Jack replied nonchalantly, smiling sweetly, a picture of perfect innocence.  "Trust me when I tell you she's fine right now.  I’ve bounced around a bit in Ms. Noble's personal timeline and, for once, I'm not the one going off half-cocked, like some old west cowboy,” he assured the Doctor as he reached up to flick the Stetson he wore. Noting the bullet hole in the crown of the hat, Jack’s eyebrow twitched once.  “Still charming your way across time and space, I see,” he added with a smirk. Without thinking, Jack peered a bit closer at the Doctor’s face, and in a surprisingly intimate gesture, he licked his thumb and swiped it across the Doctors cheekbone to remove a smudge of black.    
  
“You ‘bounced around' in her timeline?,” the Doctor cried, batting Jack's hand away in annoyance.  ‘That's extraordinarily reckless by any standard, even for you, not to mention dangerous for Donna!”  He stalked back to the console once more, flicking switches and pressing buttons as he consulted various sensors. He glanced at a monitor hung just at eye level as he passed and, grabbing the edge of the console to use it as an anchor, he swung himself back to the display with a frown.  "And how do you know that whatever you saw that makes you think she’s all right will come to pass?” the Doctor demanded angrily, swinging the screen around for Jack to see.  An image of Donna flickered there, shifting between a view of her sat in a gently-lit window-seat cradling a small bundle and another of her in the same location, slumped against the glass and staring morosely into the dark.  The Doctor read something on the screen and his lip curled into a sneer as he rounded once more on Jack.  “Time is in flux and-"  
  
“Doctor,” Jack interjected, stepping forward and turning the screen to himself, wondering just what the concentric and overlapping circles that danced there meant.  He turned his attention to Donna’s picture, watching as it oscillated between scenes of quiet joy and profound misery before he continued.  
  
"I've watched them,” he stated quietly, still looking at the monitor.  Jack  turned and laid a steading hand on the Doctor’s shoulder as he tilted his head and considered how best to proceed.  "He's good for her,” he added urgently.  "When I spoke to him-“  
  
"You spoke to him?!?” the Doctor roared, rearing back and refusing to be placated by Jack’s charm offensive.  "Spoke to him!  What, you just popped by for a little chat?  Did you drop in during office hours or lie in wait for him down at the pub ? Did you 'just say hello'," the Doctor mocked, making air quotes before flapping his hands about to bat away the series of unwanted images that popped into his head. He pivoted on the ball of one foot and lunged towards Jack, his voice shaking with undisguised fury.  
  
"Or was it all ‘Fancy a pint, Detective Inspector, and oh, while we're at it, let me tell you all about your amnesiac girlfriend?"  He whirled about like a mad scarecrow in a storm, all but shouting, "I told you to get rid of him, not give him permission to date Donna as though she was your daughter!"  He folded his arms across his chest and slumped back against the TARDIS console, crossing his legs at the ankle and fuming silently as he glared at Jack.  
  
Jack watched the proceeding display impassively, rocking back on his heels with his hands casually resting in his trouser pockets as he waited for the storm to pass.  "No, Doctor, you asked me to look after her,” he corrected, pursing his lips and looking to the heavens as he tapped his bottom lip with a finger.  "What were your exact words?” he wondered aloud.  "Oh, yes: I was to protect her from you, if I recall.”  Jack struck a heroic pose, legs planted firmly apart and arms folded across his chest.  He raised his chin and stared levelly at the Doctor.  "And that's exactly what I'm doing."  
  
"You were supposed to warn him off!" the Doctor erupted, launching himself off the console and skidding to a halt in front of the Captain.  
  
'I did,” Jack replied calmly.  "I warned him off looking into her past."  
  
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” the Doctor yelled, windmilling his arms about furiously.  
  
“So what did you mean, Doc?" Jack demanded, unfolding his arms and stepping directly into the Doctor’s path. " I think you need to step back a bit and examine your motives.  Go on- take a long, hard look," he challenged, poking the Doctor in the chest. "What do you want?”  
  
The Doctor scowled at Jack but refused to answer.  
  
"Look," Jack said, shaking his head in frustration. "I lied for you.  I made him think this was all Torchwood, that we were the ones watching her.”  He stepped back with a frown, running his fingers through his hair before murmuring, "Not that it matters. It's not like there’s anyone left for him to cause trouble for."  He looked up sharply and demanded, “And it was you, wasn't it?  In his office?  In her flat?”  
  
The Doctor's furious silence was all the response he needed.  
  
"I thought so," Jack continued moving closer to his friend. "So just tell me- what do you, the Doctor, want?"  
  
“I want her safe!” The Doctor bellowed abruptly, stalking about the room like a caged beast.  He rotated on one heel and stomped over to Jack with a petulant jut to his chin.  “I want her happy!”  
  
Jack merely raised a skeptical eyebrow and the Doctor stepped closer, glaring at him in a silent challenge to disagree.  After a full minute under Jack’s unrelenting scrutiny, however, the Doctor wavered in place before he stepped back and deflated visibly.  “I want her back,” he finally muttered with a frown.  He glanced up at Jack guiltily as he fidgeted with the sonic.  “I want her back with me.”  
  
“Is that possible?” Jack ventured, knowing the answer before he even asked.  
  
“No,” the Doctor replied, rolling the sonic restlessly between his hands.  
  
"Have you looked?” Jack asked gently, gaining himself a withering stare in the process. He stood back, straightening as he demanded, “Well, have you, Mister High and Mighty Time Lord, or are you just assuming?”  
  
“Yes.  Yes, of course I've looked,” the Doctor said under his breath, hanging his head and scratching at his ear in a gesture Jack found painfully familiar.  
  
“And?”  
  
“It won’t work, Jack," the Doctor confessed morosely, looking down at his open hands. "Every time I think I’ve found a way, there's always a catch.  Whenever something did look promising, I’d investigate further and look at the timelines, and every single time, her chances of a permanent recovery were one in a hundred thousand million."  He spread his fingers wide, then reflexively balled them into fists as he screwed his eyes shut.  But even with his eyes closed, he could still see it- that one, perfect day when all the stars aligned and all was right with the universe and Donna Noble remembered; remembered him, remembered the TARDIS, remembered everything. He opened his eyes slowly and shook head, looking over to Jack. “She promised me forever, Jack, but it’s too dangerous.  I won’t risk her life.”  
  
"I'm sorry, Doctor,” Jack said quietly.  "I didn't realize until later how close the two of you were."  
  
The Doctor gave a noncommittal shrug and looked back at his hands. His lips twitched once and Jack had to strain to hear the words he spoke then. "I used to be a Martian, did you know?" he said wistfully.  
  
"Doc,” Jack risked asking, "have you watched them together?"  He saw the Doctor flinch slightly, but otherwise, he remained immobile. Jack was sure, however, that he was listening and decided to forge ahead.  “Because I have.  And you may not want to hear this, but he’s good for her.  She’s happy.  They’re happy together.”  The Doctor's face remained impassive but he swallow hard as Jack continued.  “I dunno what it is, but they look like a couple.”  
  
The Doctor suddenly flared to life with a snarl. “She’s only reacting to that man in that manner because somehow, she remembers me!”  He stuffed his sonic screwdriver into his jacket pocket and leaned heavily against the console, acting as though he were reading the figures displayed there.  
  
“So, you two were like that, then?” Jack persisted, disbelief etched in his voice.  He followed the Doctor as he sidestepped around the console, throwing random switches and pretending to peer at gages.  When it was obvious that the Time Lord had no intention of responding, Jack tried another approach.  
  
“OK, Doc" he pointed out conversationally, "you never answered my question.  Tell me. Are the stories true?” The Doctor paused in his retreat around the controls with an air of confusion and Jack suppressed a smile: despite the fact that they were in a round chamber, he had him cornered.  
  
"Can Time Lords control their regenerations?  Determine their appearance at will?” he asked casually.  The Doctor’s eyes narrowed as he scratched his chin in thought.  "After all, my friend has changed on me twice now,” Jack prodded.  "I think I’ve earned the right to know."  
  
With an abrupt burst of energy, the Doctor rebooted into professorial mode.  "Well, yes and no,” he drawled pedantically.  "The older one gets, the easier it is to make ... suggestions?” he began, warming to the topic. "But some Time Lords were extraordinarily gifted in that area from the start. My friend the Corsair, for instance- always had a tattoo that served to identify him, or her, as the case may be.”  Jack’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he considered the implications.  
  
"I remember waking up in jail one time,” the Doctor continued, veering off-topic as his delivery gained in speed and he reeled around the room.  "Somehow, we'd started the night with a friendly drink at a tavern, not too far from here in the Spring of 1687, and the next thing I know, we're waking up in a jail cell some time late next year after having been found singing “Tubthumping” at the top of our lungs in the main vault of the Bank of England.”  He slid smoothly across the glass floor to stop in front of Jack, his voice dropping to conspiratorial levels.  "We had a hell of a time making bail, let me tell you.  I think our rendition of “Danny Boy’ whilst in custody may have adversely affected-"  
  
“Doctor,” Jack interrupted reluctantly, “as fascinating as all this is, can we get back to the point?"  
  
“Point?” the Doctor said, blinking.  "Ah, yes, well - not to put too fine a point on it, but yes.”  He shook his head and began to pontificate once more.  
  
"Yes, we can control our appearance, with varying degrees of success. It depends upon the circumstances of the regeneration, of course, and the more violent ones are generally pot luck, but sometimes,” he paused for emphasis and to suck in a breath. “Sometimes, a face from your travels sticks with you, or a feature you particularly fancy pops into your head, and sometimes, rarely, it's someone you will meet, in the future, but generally, in my case, it's in response to what I felt I needed the last time or what I feel I’m going to need on the next go around.”  He ended with a flourish of hands as he gestured at himself, then straightened abruptly to study Jack’s reaction.  
  
“And I’d say your last regeneration was violent, if I had to guess,” Jack mused, pursuing his lips and looking about the TARDIS.  
  
“A bit, yes,” the Doctor admitted hesitantly.  
  
"That explains it, then," Jack muttered.  
  
"Explains what?” the Doctor asked.  
  
“Hey, Doc, you regenerated in here,” Jack said, indicating the room with a sweep of his hand.  “And I think the destruction you obviously caused was on purpose.”  
  
“Are you mad?” the Doctor protested. “The TARDIS is my home!  Why would I ever-“  
  
“Well, when you went from big ears to big hair, you controlled it a lot better,” Jack pointed out.  “But that time, you changed so you could stick around. You had Rose to live for.  Not this last time, though.” Jack said, sitting down on the stairs leading beyond the control room.  “This time, it looks like you wanted to obliterate anything that had a connection to your old life.  You wanted to erase everything that would remind you of what you had and lost,” Jack pronounced darkly.  
  
He sniffed once and twisted around to look down the corridor behind him.  “Is my room still down there?  Is hers?” he asked, purposefully leaving the question ambiguous.  
  
“I’m afraid I’m not following you, Jack,” the Doctor said guardedly.  
  
"Well, I always thought, you know, that your last body…” he explained, waving awkwardly as he decided how to respond.  He gave up on diplomacy with a shrug and blurted out, “Well, I just assumed it was for Rose, yeah?”  The Doctor cocked his head to the side with a puzzled frown as Jack barreled on.  
  
"And I always thought that was a bit of a waste, seeing how much she loved you with a bad attitude, big ears, and leather.”  Jack nodded slowly, looking over the Doctor’s shoulder and into the past as the pieces fell into place.  
  
“But now I get it. That body, it wasn't for Rose.  I mean, not really, was it?”  He focused on the Doctor’s face and leaned back, reclining on the stairs with a slightly lascivious smirk.  "I mean, yeah, she appreciated it. Hell, I appreciated it. Every sentient being with sensory organs and a libido appreciated it, but that's not what it was for, was it?"  
  
The Doctor refused to meet Jack's eyes as he fumbled with his bow tie.  "I’m sure I don't know what you mean, Captain,” he said stiffly and, for Jack, that sealed it.  The Doctor only used his title when he wanted distance, Jack knew, and he realized his remarks must have been cutting a bit too close to the bone.  
  
"Hey, I know I hurt Donna's feelings that first time on the TARDIS when I didn't hug her,” Jack confessed, standing and stretching, "but I'd gotten tired of you warning me off your companions.”  He walked slowly around the Time Rotor, spreading his arms wide as he stopped before the Doctor.  "And after I saw how you were when Donna was trapped in the TARDIS and you thought she was gone?  You begged a Dalek to let you die in her place, man, with Rose right there beside you!”  
  
Jack took a step back and turned on the spot, letting his coat flare out around him.  He spun dramatically back to the Doctor as he thrust his hands into his coat pockets, stalking back to where the Time Lord stood with a hooded expression.  "Well, I tried to tell myself it was because you'd do that for any companion or that you’d rather die in the TARDIS alone than be trapped somewhere for the rest of your days without the old girl... but the desolation in your eyes?"  He continued his relentless pursuit as the Doctor made for the controls again, but Jack was there, interspersing himself between the Time Lord and the console for his closing argument.  
  
“What I'm saying is that you didn't change for Rose, did you? You thought you did, at the time, but it wasn't Rose.  Absorbing all that Time Vortex energy from the Bad Wolf and then releasing it back into the TARDIS,” he thought aloud, shaking his head.  "It was a violent change and you couldn't control it. Your time sense was confused and overrun. You changed- into that body- because you saw **this** , but you didn’t know what **this was** , exactly,” Jack accused.  He saw the chink in the Doctor’s armor and intensified his offensive.  
  
“All you knew was that face, the face you saw as the Time Vortex bled away- That - Face- was the face of the man the woman you would come to love would love in return,” he asserted. Jack slowly drew himself up when the full extent of the Doctor’s loss came clear.  "You changed into that face,” he breathed, "because you knew that was the face the woman you would love would want to spend forever with. And naturally, at the time, you assumed that woman was going to be Rose. But it wasn't, was it?"  
  
"Stop it, Jack," the Doctor warned, his face pale as he leaned over the controls and gripped the edge of the console with white-knuckled hands. "Stop it this instant." But Jack was on a roll and there was no stopping him.  
  
"I know you can’t really see your own timeline, but in the turmoil, you caught glimpses, impressions, emotions that bled over from your future, and you thought they came from Rose, standing right there, but they weren’t.  But how could you know?  You hadn’t even met her yet,” Jack reasoned as he thought aloud.  “But when you changed, you felt those emotions and you heard forever and you mistook what you saw for your future together with Rose.  But what you really saw was Donna’s future with …” Jack’s eyes widened in sudden understanding.  
  
“You really did think you loved Rose and she was going to be your forever.  And then she was gone, you thought forever, and you never believed you’d love anyone again anyway.  I get that.   But by the time you worked out that you’d fallen in love with Donna, you couldn’t tell her.  You thought you’d blown it with all your “just mates” blarney.”  Jack was swept away by the force of his logic and in his mania, he missed the Doctor’s stricken expression.  
  
“And then when you heard her tell Martha she was going to travel with you forever, you must have been so happy.  You must have been so sure you’d be able to make her know how you felt eventually and that she was going to be able to give you at least her version of forever." Jack stopped short when the Doctor’s head jerked around in alarm.  
  
“What?” Jack said defensively.  “You think you never came up in conversation when Martha and I went out for a coffee?  Especially after we found out what happened to Donna?”  The Doctor stared at him coldly before he dropped his head into his hands, and Jack risked reaching out to lay a consoling hand on the his shoulder.  
  
“Oh, Doctor- I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry,” Jack said sincerely.  “It’s a bit ironic, if you think of it,” he mused, looking up at the ceiling.  “Rose and Donna; They’re both ending up with a man with that face and here you are alone with me.” He half-expected the Doctor to leap to his feet and deny everything, to protest, to rebuff him, to maybe even throw him out of the TARDIS, this time for good, and he held his breath as he waited to see which it would be.  He was all but astonished when the Time Lord turned around and sat back heavily on the stairs with his hands clasped despondently between his knees.  
  
“What do I do now, Jack?” he asked, rubbing his hand across his face.  When he turned to look up, Jack was startled to see his red-rimmed eyes brim over and a single tear stain his cheek.  
  
Jack considered his words for a long moment before he spoke.  “Doc, the way I see it, you have exactly two options,” he said.  “It's simple: you get her back or you let her go.” When the Doctor huffed out an ironic snort, Jack added, “You said you hadn’t found a way to fix her.  Maybe we can work together-”  
  
“No,” the Doctor interrupted, shutting down Jack’s offer.  “I've looked everywhere. There's just no precedence for what’s happened to Donna.”  He covered his face and spoke from behind his hands.  “There are theories- mad, dangerous notions - but they're unproven and I can't risk it,” he breathed, scrubbing his face madly then threading his fingers though his hair.  “I can't even ask her if I should try,” he complained.  
  
“Well, that's a switch,” Jack said dryly before he could stop himself.  “You, giving a companion an opportunity to choose?”  
  
“What exactly are you implying, Captain?,” the Doctor retorted stiffly.  “I always have the best interests of my companions at heart.”  
  
In for a pound, thought Jack before he replied, “Their interests?  Yeah, but you treat them like children, incapable of making their own decisions.”   The Doctor gaped at him indignantly and as he opened his mouth to retort, Jack cut him off.  
  
“Do you need a list?”  he demanded.  “I can start with Rose. Or should I begin with me?”  
  
The Doctor closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth and had the good grace to look ashamed.  Jack leaned over him and rested both hands on his shoulders.  
  
“Doctor, if you’re sure you can’t save her, you have no choice.  If you can’t make her remember, then you have to leave her,” Jack urged.  He sat down heavily next to the Doctor and stared down into the darkness beneath his feet.  
  
“She was my best mate,” the Doctor admitted and for a moment, Jack thought he heard the ghost of his friend’s previous self in his voice.  “When I lost her …. I … things…  I went a bit mad, Jack, without her.”  He smiled grimly before he continued.   “Grief does funny things to you, sometimes.”  He looked up suddenly into the Captain’s eyes.  “I mean, I've lost companions before ... But no one fought harder and to lose her at my own hands…”  
  
"When you did ... what you had to do," Jack said, his eyes still on the darkness below, hyperaware of the Doctor's vulnerability, "Is that when you realized how much you loved her? As more than just a mate?"  The Doctor regarded him gratefully, glad that the Captain for once had the tact and self-restraint to not indulge in the obvious joke.  
  
"Me?” the Doctor said ruefully, shaking his head with a frown. "Love her?  That was never the question.”  Jack risked a sideways glance at the admission.  The Doctor looked lost and forlorn and for once, Jack saw nothing but naked vulnerability in his too-private friend.  
  
“No, Jack, that's when I saw that she loved me."  He started to reach up and adjust his tie, but he arrested the gesture midway and let his hands fall limply into his lap.  "I saw that she had for quite some time, but she couldn't believe that I could ever return…She thought … she believed she wasn't good enough and that I...," he choked out, deeply ashamed at his display of weakness.  
  
He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes to focus on his breathing.  ”But she was prepared to stay anyway, Jack.  She was content just traveling with me. She had no expectations, but she would have stayed with me for the rest of her life, and she would have been happy. We could have gone on forever, just as friends and nothing more, and she would have been happy,” he said in a broken, hollow voice.  "And knowing that now?  Knowing how she felt, about herself and about me?”  He looked up at Jack imploringly.  “What’s that Earth saying, Captain?  While there's life, there's hope?”  
  
“Peter Carlisle is helping her put her life back together, and he’s helping her build context for those memories that have been leaking through since she got back,” Jack said urgently.  “It's what destroyed her marriage to Shaun.”  
  
“And Donna wanted children,” the Doctor revealed, going on as if he’d never heard a word the Captain had said.  "She never said, but I could tell.  Just another thing she was prepared to give up to stay with me, Jack, and it started me thinking."  
  
Jack shook his head in frustration and twisted around, reaching for his friend’s hand.  “Doc, you have to own up to facts.  You can’t fix what happened.  You lost her,” he said.  
  
"I thought it would be fun to see which me any children of hers would resemble,” the Doctor murmured.  He drew in a deep breath and affected a jaunty air and a false smile.  "Now I know.”  He couldn’t maintain the facade for long, though, and another tear streaked down his face.  He wiped it away and looked off into space.  "Maybe one of them will be ginger,” he added in a whisper and Jack’s heart broke anew.  
  
“Donna’s gone to you,” Jack pronounced, hating the finality of the situation.  "If you love her, you’ll let her go.”  
  
The Doctor swallowed past the lump that had unaccountably formed in his throat. “Will that make it go away, Jack?  The pain?” he wanted to know.  
  
“No,” Jack confessed.  “No, only time can do that.”  
  
The Doctor gave an ironic snort and a wry smile graced his lips before his face fell again.  
  
“How can you stand it, Jack?  Human emotion?” the Doctor asked without looking at him.   
  
“Eternity is a long, lonely time without love, Doctor,” Jack replied, remembering morning lie ins and seemingly-endless mugs of perfect coffee with a melancholy smile.  “You can try doing what I do.  Hold tight to the memories and cherish what you had.  If you’re lucky, you’ll find another hand to hold.  But just know that even if you do, it will never feel the same again.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter isn't investigating against Donna's wishes. Really, he isn't....

**Tuesday, July 24, 2012  11:18 AM**  
  
It was the light that made him do it, that golden haze he couldn't understand, much less begin to explain.  Peter scratched guilty at his ear as he recalled his promise to Donna to stop delving into her past, and he had, he'd told himself.  But this?  This wasn't about her past, he rationalized, it was about their future, together.  
  
And so when his and Ian's latest inquiry came down to the question of determining if the grandson’s possible delay in summoning an ambulance had caused his grandfather’s death and, thereby, constituted murder, Peter had volunteered to take care of the legwork.     Ian had pinned him with a knowing look but when Peter refused to squirm under scrutiny, he shrugged and passed over the list of ambulance services.  
  
“I’ll pay these a visit this afternoon,” Peter said, studying the list in his hand.  “I’ll report back later today an’ let ye know what I find.  
  
"I'll interview the household staff and see what they think of the grandson," Ian replied.  "If there were any disagreements, they might know of it."  He hesitated a moment before adding, "Are you and Donna still up for watching the opening ceremonies with Maddie and me Friday night?”  
  
"Oh, yeah," Peter said, looking up from his list.  "Donna thought it might be better for us to go to the George Friday night instead of St. Stephens.  It’ll be too crowded here and the George is close to where we live.  Donna has a standin' reservation on one of the booths.  They're bringing in a big screen for the Olympics coverage, and after, if the roads are too packed, ye could always stay with us at her place.  She's got guest rooms upstairs now and she's dyin' to put 'em to use.”  
  
Ian grinned somewhat bashfully before responding.  "The George sounds good," he agreed, "but after, we may have other plans.”  
  
"OK, then," Peter said, nodding and waving absently as he backed out of the door.  "But she’d want ye to know ye'd both be welcome.”

  
  
**********

  
  
Halfway through the list, three hours, and a few discreet inquires not directly related to the case later, Peter found himself sitting in his car on Overstone across from the St. John Ambulance Station.  He glanced about, surreptitiously looking for a flash of blue or grey and finding none, he sniffed in satisfaction, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he prepared to wait.  His patience was rewarded a short time later when two men emerged from the station.  Peter recognized one of them immediately as his target, Geoffrey Hinton.  Wearing a plain grey track suit and trainers, the paramedic waved his goodbye to his partner before slinging a bag over his shoulder and heading down the street at a jog.  Peter waited until the other man disappeared around a corner before he made his move.  
  
"Mr. Hinton?” Peter called as he climbed out of the car.  “Mr. Hinton, might I have a word?”  
  
Geoffery Hinton stopped in surprise and turned.  Peter saw the man’s lips quirk into a sly smile for a moment before he ambled back and met him on the kerb as he crossed the street.  “Mr. Hinton, Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle,” Peter said, automatically pulling his ID from his pocket.  "I donae expect ye to remember me, but -“  
  
“We met the last time my partner and I were called out to attend to Ms. Noble,” Geoff interrupted, glancing about curiously before turning his attention back to the man before him.  “She’s well, I take it, but you have questions.”  
  
"What makes ye say that?” Peter asked.  He was accustomed to working with other emergency responders and he appreciated their ability to quickly assess a situation, but he also knew that letting other people tell him what they assumed he wanted to know brought about the best results.  Oftentimes, what they willing revealed was just as telling as what they chose to conceal.  
  
“That she’s well?” Geoff said with a shrug.  “It’s been nearly three months since our last call, and while I'm happy Ms. Noble hasn’t been ill, we miss the banana bread.”  He regarded Peter shrewdly, pursing his lips before continuing.  "That you have questions?  Why else would you seek me out?"  He seemed to debate his actions for a moment before setting his bag down at his feet and squaring his shoulders, his stance one of almost military precision.  "My partner and I, we were wondering if we’d see you again, DI.  I thought yes, but I must admit, I was expecting it to be in conjunction with an emergency call.”  He sobered slightly, then smiled.  "I’m glad to be wrong.  So what can I do for you?”  
  
“Yer right, this is about Donna," Peter stated flatly, watching for the paramedic's reaction.  "In light of recent developments, I find myself in need of yer medical opinion, Mr. Hinton.”  
  
“I’m not a doctor,” the man interrupted, eyeing Peter speculatively, “and those that know me call me Geoff.”  He extended his hand and Peter took it without hesitation.  
  
“Geoff,” Peter repeated with a nod, “my friends call me Peter.”  He stared intently at Geoff to get a baseline read on the man before voicing his reason for seeking him out.  “I came to see ye because what I need to know apparently cannae be explained by conventional medicine.  It needs a specialist, and due to yer unique experience, that means you,” he said, with special emphasis on the last word.  He bit his lip guiltily for a moment before taking that final step.  “Ye’ve attended to Ms. Noble's care in the past.  What can ye tell me of yer experience with her and her medical history?”  
  
“Is this part of an official inquiry?” Geoff asked, raising his chin and looking askance at Peter.  
  
“Ye must know that it isnae,” Peter admitted.  “But I need to know if Donna's safe."  He hesitated for a split second before adding, "And I need to know about somethin’ I’ve seen.”  
  
Geoff inhaled deeply and rubbed his hand across his chin before releasing his breath in a controlled sigh.  “The glow,” he stated, his voice matter-of-fact.  “You’ve seen it and now you want to know about the weird light around Ms. Noble when she has her episodes.”  
  
“So ye’ve seen it, too,” Peter said quietly.  "I cannae find any reasonable explanation for it,” he admitted.  Without pausing for breath, he began peppering the man with the questions that had been plaguing him since he’d first seen the fire dancing in Donna’s eyes.  “What is it, exactly?  How is it possible and why does it happen?  Is it always accompanied by a high fever?  Is it a symptom of a larger condition and could it possibly be the cause of her memory loss, or do ye think it’s a side-effect of whatever precipitated her amnesia?  And what known medical condition routinely produces fevers that spike as high as hers seem to do, then suddenly drop back down to near normal?”  
  
Geoff pursed his lips and waited for Peter to wind down.  “Which question should I address first?” he asked drily before taking pity on Peter and launching into his response.  “The most common cause of hyperpyrexia is an intracranial hemorrhage, but you can rule out that out,” Geoff hastened to add as Peter’s eyes widened in horror.  "It’s not what’s bringing on Ms. Noble's fevers.  She's been checked for it, several times.”  
  
Geoff swallowed hard and Peter saw the memory of what he suspected may have been an unpleasant reaction from his beloved to that specific procedure cloud the other man’s eyes. Geoff shook his head before returning to his clinical explanation. "Other possible causes of an unusually high fever include sepsis, Kawasaki syndrome, neuroleptic malignant syndrome, serotonin syndrome, and thyroid storm, but all of those conditions have been eliminated as causal factors, and none of them are characterized by that frankly weird light.”  He offered Peter a bemused shrug.  
  
"Do ye and yer partner usually respond to Donna’s emergency calls, then?” Peter asked, eyeing the man curiously.  He fumbled in his coat pockets out of habit, surreptitiously looking for a lolly, even though he knew he wouldn’t find one.  
  
Geoff shrugged again, and Peter caught a flash of something almost sad cross his face when he answered.  “I’ve seen Ms. Noble on and off for the last two and a half years.  Since our first visit, we've received every emergency call she's had in London.”  
  
“Why d’ye specify ‘in London'?  Did she have an episode somewhere else that ye know of?” Peter probed.  
  
“She apparently suffered what was called heat exhaustion on her honeymoon in Italy.  I don’t read Italian and the translation was a bit vague, but given her history, I was suspicious when I read her medical records,” Geoff confessed.  
  
“Is that standard practice among emergency medical technicians, then, checkin’ a patient's medical history?” Peter asked, cocking his head and regarding Geoff with open curiosity.  
  
“She’s a recurring patient,” Geoff replied, nodding awkwardly.  “Even without the stipend, after our third call to her residence, I would have thought it prudent.”  
  
“Stipend?  What stipend?" Peter demanded, immediately latching onto the word like a bloodhound.  "What does that mean?”  
  
“My partner and I both receive a frankly handsome stipend for agreeing to respond immediately to any and all calls for Ms.Noble, regardless of the time of day,” Geoff disclosed with a frown.  
  
“Who pays it?” Peter persisted.  
  
“I don’t know,” Geoff admitted.  “Never really thought about it.  We both assumed it was part of her compensation package from her charity.”  
  
Peter left off rooting in his pockets in frustration, pulling a face as he did. He pondered the possibility of involvement by Noble Endeavors in her care and rejected it out of hand.  Donna would neither tolerate the special treatment nor condone the expense. So if not her foundation, then who? he wondered, not liking the picture that was forming in his mind. Was her care a form of compensation for an injury sustained in the course of her previous employment, or more likely given recent events, a way for Torchwood’s Phantom to monitor her current condition, lest she remember what he suspected had been done to her?  He grimly recalled her whispered words as he'd held her burning with fever in his arms.  
  
_Peter, I said "No," and he did it anyway._  
  
"I wish I could help you,” Geoff said as he watched Peter wrestle with what he’d learned, "but frankly, I  don’t have any more of an idea now about what's causing these episodes than I did the first time we were called out.  We just treat the symptoms, get the fever down as quickly as possible and add the incident to her file.”  
  
Peter recognized the frustration in Geoff’s voice as he mentally reviewed what the man had told him.  “Yer partner mentioned her file the first time we met, out at Duke’s Meadow,” he recalled. “Surely in yer profession, paperwork is as routine as it is in my own, so why point it out?”  He didn’t believe Geoff was an active part of a conspiracy, but that didn't mean the meticulous records he maintained on Donna's condition couldn't be misused by unscrupulous individuals.  
  
“Peter, her file existed in our system prior to her first emergency call.  We knew before we even arrived to expect fevers as high as 41.2°C. The expected response to her condition is specifically outlined in that file, in meticulous detail.  That’s not routine.  Plus, there’s simply no known condition that causes intermittent hyperpyrexia accompanied by bioluminescence in humans, or any other species, for that matter,” Geoff explained.  
  
“41.2°C is a very specific target,” Peter said to himself, tapping his finger against his teeth and wishing again that he had a hard candy in his pocket.  
  
“Yes,” Geoff agreed, “and if her temperature ever approaches 41.2°C, we’ve been given a specialist to contact while we work to get her fever down.”  
  
Peter abruptly focused his attention back on Geoff.  "Who’s this specialist ye’re to call?” Peter demanded, "What number have ye been given?”  
  
“There’s no name in the file, just the the word doctor.  We’ve never had to call, so I don’t know who this specialist is, but here,” Geoff replied, fishing in his pocket.  “Just in case, I added the contact information to my mobile.”  He unlocked the screen and pulled up the entry before passing his phone to Peter. He pulled his own mobile out and concentrated on transferring the number into his contacts.  
  
“Her temperature, it was close, that first time we got the call,” Geoff said, his voice somehow distant as he recalled.  "Her fever read 41.1°C, and that’s when that light started pouring off her.  Never seen anything like it.  Ms. Noble was still living at home at the time.”  Geoff unsuccessfully tried to suppress a shudder at the memory.  “You’ve met her mother?” he suddenly blurted out.  
  
“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure,” Peter confirmed with a dark smile as he passed the man's mobile back and pocketed his own.  
  
“Then you’re a braver man than I am, Peter,” Geoff said darkly.  "We were at her door in less than three minutes after the call came in, but the way her mum came at us, you’d have thought we’d stopped off for a pint on the way.”  Geoff shook his head before admitting, "We seriously considered getting one once we’d gone.”  
  
"Yeah, that sounds like Sylvia," Peter agreed, rubbing his nose and taking a deep breath.  “Ye could be there before she rang off and she wouldnae be satisfied.”  
  
"But that’s just it, DI," Geoff said with a incredulous shake of his head. "Her mum and her grandad insist they weren’t the ones to place the emergency call in the first place.”  
  
“What d’ye mean?” Peter asked, puzzled.  
  
“They claimed that Donna had just begun to exhibit symptoms as we arrived and they hadn’t had time to call.  In fact, her mum had a go at me, saying something we did brought her episode on.  She didn’t want to let us in the house, even. You know how adrenaline flooding your system sometimes makes time seem to go slower or faster?   I just assumed in the confusion she was mistaken.  I mean, her granddad had his mobile in hand when he answered the door, ” Geoff replied, stepping closer to Peter and wagging his finger.  “But when she kept insisting every time?  I had the dispatch check back to see who had placed the calls and sure enough, none of them came from Chiswick.  I tried to have the number traced back, but it seems to be some sort of forwarding service from out of Wales.”  
  
“Wales?” Peter asked, incredulously.  “Are ye sure?”  
  
“Well, yes.  Cardiff, to be precise,” Geoff offered. "Our dispatch office has to be able to trace calls, in case the patient loses consciousness or is unable to respond verbally,” Geoff explained, watching Peter carefully.  
  
“Right,” Peter murmured quietly, pursing his lips as he mulled over this new information.  Remembering the photo of that damned great coat streaking across the Plass, he nodded as the pieces began to align.  “Of course, that makes perfect sense.”  He sniffed once, then rubbed at the bridge of his nose before his eyes refocused on Geoff.  “Is that it, then?” he asked, more from habit than anything else.  
  
When Peter continued to look at him expectantly, Geoff shook his head.  Peter saw the other man pause to consider his next words before speaking.  "DI, I reckon you’re doing her some good, but I did warn you when we first met.”  
  
“Meanin’?” Peter asked cautiously.  
  
“Three months is a record.  This is the longest Ms. Noble's ever gone between emergency calls," Geoff explained reluctantly.  He chewed at the corner of his mouth before adding darkly, "But it will happen again, and you'd best prepare yourself for when it does.”  
  
“How’d ye mean, prepare?  What’re ye gettin' at?" Peter demanded.  
  
"I warned you the first time we met, before I even knew what you did for a living.  You need to be prepared to not know.  To being left in the dark on some matters.  Some mysteries, DI, are just not mean to be solved.”  
  
Peter swallowed hard, his expression grim as he digested Geoff's warning.  "Why are ye helping me with Donna, then?” he asked quietly. "Doesnae this entire conversation violate yer oath of patient confidentiality?”  
  
Geoff stared at Peter and he knew he was being measured as Geoff decided how best to reply.  "Look, DI,” he finally began.  "I don't know you, but I'm guessing our work experiences are similar.  We see people at their worst, on the worst days of their lives.”  He cocked his jaw to the side and stared off into the distance with a sigh before continuing in a hollow voice.  "We see people stripped of all pretense, helpless, afraid and, no matter how many people are there with them, alone.  It’s never pretty, what we see, and after awhile, this job, it wears on your soul.”  He stopped and shook his head as if to clear away unpleasant memories before letting his head drop to one side and regarding Peter with a sad smile.  
  
Geoff took a deep breath and looked up and over Peter’s head, slowly exhaling as he let his gaze fall back on the man before him.  “Why am I helping you with Ms. Noble?” Geoff finally said quietly.  "I’m sure you know, she’s got a temper on her, Ms. Noble, and sometimes she lets it get the better of her, but she’s a good person with a caring heart.”  
  
“Aye, that she is," Peter agreed, scratching the back of his neck, puzzled, his face scrunched up in concern.  
  
“Well, that’s why,” Geoff said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as Peter waited for the penny to drop.  The paramedic finally smirked, realizing Peter’s ploy.  
  
"DI, in the course of your career, how many thank you cards have you ever got?” he asked, scooping up his bag and slinging it across his shoulder.  "How many people have ever apologized to you for an all-too-human outburst during an emergency with a basket of baked goods?”  Geoff waited a moment for his words to sink in before he stuck out his hand to Peter once more.  Peter took the proffered hand and shook it as Geoff added, “And like I said, you’re good for her. That’s why."  



	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter keyed in the code for the street-level gate, letting it clang shut behind him, all the while mulling over what he’d learned.

**Tuesday, July 24, 2012  5:37 PM**

Peter keyed in the code for the street-level gate, letting it clang shut behind him, all the while mulling over what he’d learned.  While Geoff Hinton had provided him with much food for thought, it was the idea of some unknown entity paying out a stipend for Donna's care that bothered him most. What better way to keep tabs on her than to provide a dedicated service that documented every bit of her medical data and a fair amount of personal information as a matter of course?  As both a mental exercise and a bit of a stalling technique, he’d forced himself to speculate on possible alternate sources for this special service, rejecting each almost as soon as it occurred to him.  For the sake of thoroughness, he knew he would still verify his theories later, but Peter was sure the private health care wasn’t part of an executive benefits package from Noble Endeavors, as Donna would never have condoned the cost nor tolerated the special treatment.  In light of the fact that he’d never been able to find any reference to the source of her injuries in all the files surreptitiously provided by Ian’s connections to the Home Office, he deemed it equally unlikely the service was part of some official compensation settlement. 

As he absently climbed the stairs leading to the flat he would soon share with Donna, Peter felt the weight of his mobile in his coat pocket and reached for it, thumbing it to life as he stopped just outside her door.  The screen flared brightly once more, displaying his last entry- the number for the mysterious specialist Geoff had found in Donna’s medical file.  He had no illusions.  Even as his thumb hovered over the connect button, he was fully aware that he was postponing the inevitable.  Peter knew, beyond a doubt, just who would answer if he’d only press the button and make the call he’d been putting off. It was only the fact that he hadn't discussed the situation with Donna that stayed his hand.  He was itching to put closure to this whole situation and find the truth of her missing past once and for all, but this was literally her call to make and, as much as the waiting galled him, he promised himself he would abide by her decision, whatever the outcome. He'd wait until the time was right.  He simply needed to be there for her when she was ready to confront her past so that they were finally free to move into their future together. 

Peter fumbled in his pocket for the door key before remembering that, since Donna’s renovations were complete, he no longer needed one. Dropping his mobile and key ring back into his pocket, Peter pressed his left thumb to the pad beside the door and waited.  As the lock disengaged with a telltale snick, Peter heard a tiny shriek and the patter of frantic footsteps from within and his blood ran cold.  He thrust the door open and glanced around quickly, stunned at the chaos that greeted him.  Peter advanced two determined steps into the room before the sound of girlish laughter retreating down the hall towards Donna’s bedroom registered.

“Donna?” he called cautiously, a hint of worry in his voice.  “Are ye -?”

“Peter!” she shrieked in response, and he frowned as the end of his name dissolved into giddy giggles.  “Oh. My. GOD!  You’re early!”  He relaxed fractionally at the sound of her voice, panic-stricken, yet somehow full of mirth. 

“Early?” Peter replied, eyeing his watch dubiously.  “Well, about 20 minutes, maybe-“

“Twenty minutes?” He heard another nervous giggle from down the hall and Donna immediately amended her statement.  “NOOoooo!  It’s late!  How the flippin’ hell did that happen?” 

Peter scratched the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, torn between staying put and charging after her.  “Donna, are ye all right?” he asked, shuffling towards  the hallway.  “Is something the matter? Who’s with ye?"

“Everything’s fine, Peter, really!” she cried.  “Just please, don’t come back here until I say!  Stay right there?”

“All right,” he agreed, turning slowly on the spot to catalog the disorder around him, "but what the bloody hell happened here?"  If you were to place a week’s worth of serious, full-time, retail shopping on a carousel, Peter decided, and turn it on high in the middle of the dining room, the resultant disorder still wouldn't approach the current state of Donna's flat.  His first impulse was to call a colleague in property crimes until he realized it was only Donna's dining area that was in a state of complete disarray and the rest of her - their- flat was as tidy as ever. He was still trying to take it all in when a neat chestnut bob peeked around the corner for a moment, then disappeared almost before he had time to register the features beneath it.  He heard a flurry of quiet whispers and another suppressed laugh before Donna walked out with as much dignity as she could muster, given that she was clutching a partially-zipped midnight blue cocktail dress to her bosom and wore only one spectacularly treacherous stiletto heel.  She marched into the dining room and stood in the center, searching the floor and chairs futilely for some unknown item.  She glanced at Peter and bit her lip before turning towards the hall and hissing, “Oi!  Where?”

The chestnut bob appeared from around the corner once more and pointed.  “Just there!  On the other side of the table!”  Peter caught a glimpse of naked shoulder and immediately began a thorough and discreet examination of his shoes.

With a subdued cry of triumph, Donna swept around the table and scooped up a blouse, a jacket, something that might have been some sort of ladies' undergarment, and, much to Peter’s amusement, the mate to the stiletto she wore.  She set the high-heeled shoe properly on the floor and teetered precariously on one leg for a moment before she managed to balance and slip it on.  She straightened up and adjusted her dress strap, pulling it into place and throwing her shoulders back to keep it secure.  Donna tossed him a mischievous smile as she sauntered back to the hallway, her ginger curls brushing her bare back above the open zip of her dress.  Peter risked looking up to watch the gentle sway of her hips as she slowly made her way across the floor and he had to press his fist to his lip to keep from laughing as a bare arm shot out from the hallway to snatch the clothes from her grasp.   Donna wobbled dangerously with an indignant cry of “Oi!" and just as Peter lunged for her, knowing he’d never be able to reach her in time, the same arm reappeared amidst another gale of laughter to arrest her fall.  She glanced at Peter and a naughty grin spread across her face before she disappeared around the corner once more.

Suddenly made redundant, Peter stood by in bemused silence, one eyebrow arching higher by the second as he heard a flurry of whispers followed by a muffled guffaw drift down the hall.

The mystery of the giggles was solved when Maddie appeared around the corner, straightening her skirt and making a beeline for a discarded pair of pumps beside the sofa. 

"Maddie," Peter said as a tiny smile played about the corner of his mouth, his eyes dancing with relieved amusement. "I'd ask what the pair of ye have been gettin' up to, but given the sheer volume of physical evidence in which I find m’self stood, I'm sure the query would do naught to burnish my professional reputation.”

Maddie laid a garment bag across the back of the sofa and stepped into her shoes carefully.  “Peter, what an unexpected surprise,” she said by way of greeting.  She turned slightly and called back over her shoulder.  “Donna, how many words was that?"

“Thirty-eight,” Donna replied, reentering the room with two large bags.  She set them at Maddie’s feet and stood carefully, crossing her arms over her chest to hold her dress in place.  “Thirty-nine if you count your name, which I don’t.  He’s off his game today, I think.”

"Probably the shock of finding two nearly nude women in the dining room upon his return home,” Maddie said with a laugh as Peter scoffed, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously nevertheless. Maddie leaned in close to Donna and stage-whispered, “Show him the green one next.” She smoothly did up the zip on the back of Donna's dress before winking conspiratorially at Peter as she passed.  "Nice to see you again, Peter," she called out as she swept up her bags and backed towards the door, laughing at his expression before waving her goodbyes.  “Donna, this was lovely.  Ring me tomorrow and we’ll finalize the plans for the opening and for Friday night!” 

“Will do, and don’t let me catch you goin’ shoppin’ without me!” Donna replied with a grin as she adjusted the neckline of her dress.  “We still have that,” she paused, shooting a sidelong glance at Peter "….thing…. we have to look into, yeah?”

“Well, one of us will look, at any rate,” Maddie said with a smirk, her eyes glittering as they flitted between Peter and Donna.  She laughed again and closed the door with a last meaningful look at Donna.  “Talk to you later!”

Peter stood looking around the room at the heaps of bags and boxes strewn about once more, waiting until he heard the outer door of Donna’s garden clang shut before speaking.  "So… Maddie?” he finally ventured, stifling the urge to lift the lid of the nearest box and peek inside.  “What was she goin’ on about there?  I thought ye were goin’ to work before meetin’ Nerys today?”

As Donna cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, Peter hastened to clarify.  ”Not that ye needed to clear it through me or any such nonsense.  I’m merely curious, is all,” he explained, and as she visibly relaxed, Peter finally gave in to temptation.  His tongue pressed up against the back of his teeth as he poked at the nearest large, flat rectangle embossed with the S&G logo and as the lid slid free, his eyes widened.  Peter cleared his throat, reaching for the lid as his free hand shot to the back of his neck once more.  He absently scratched at the back of his head as he surmised, “That’s to go with the green that Maddie mentioned, right?”  Donna smirked at his obvious discombobulation and Peter recovered quickly.  “So what happened to change yer plans?” he prompted, letting the lid fall back into place.

“I did go to work,” she explained, stepping closer to tidy the table. "Iona is coming in on Tuesdays and Thursdays to ease herself back into the office, so I figured I should concentrate on my next position, start transitionin' into project management with Maddie and Urban Scrawl.”  Peter nodded absently as he glanced at Donna, then back to the mountain of packages piled before him, biting his lip as his eyes searched the table hopefully for another box of similar size and shape.

“I was plannin’ on lunch with Nerys first,” Donna continued, ”but she called and said the twins were a bit under the weather, so I stopped by with some soup and ginger biscuits and few books for the girls. I didn't stay since I didn't want to risk falling ill and making you sick as well, so after, I called and asked Maddie to lunch instead.”

“That makes sense,” he replied, watching as she replaced the lid on an identical empty box and moved it aside.  “And after lunch, the two of ye went shoppin’?”

“Well, as part of this project, I realized that Maddie and I are going to be attending a fair number of gallery openings,” Donna said quickly, making a point of not looking at Peter as she shuffled the boxes into a neater pile.  “She mentioned that she’d have to get a new suit for Ian if he was to go with her, and I knew my own wardrobe was shamefully lacking in appropriate attire, ” Donna rabbited on, casually moving around the table towards him.  “Well, one shop lead to another and before I knew it…” She shrugged, waving at the bags and boxes now neatly stacked before her.  She noticed Peter examining her purchases with interest and her eyes widened as she lunged for a box near Peter with the lid still slightly askew.  In her haste, Donna overreached and stumbled on the edge of the carpet, lurching into his arms with a surprised squeak. 

“Donna!” he cried, the open package forgotten as he reflexively stepped forward to stop her fall.  “I’ve got ye.” 

She was so still in his embrace for a moment, eyes wide yet somehow, unseeing, and Peter was grateful that she smiled without flinching away when he gently brushed a stray curl from her face. "I don't think anyone's ever meant to actually walk in these things,” she replied breathlessly as she pushed herself back off Peter’s chest, pulling a face as she dubiously eyed the heels she wore. 

"A situation easily remedied," Peter responded with a grin, sweeping her up into his arms as she gave a squawk of alarm. 

"Peter Carlisle!" Donna shrieked, throwing her arms about his neck.  "Put me down, you prawn!”  She fought the urge to struggle, afraid that she’d unbalance him and end up injuring the both of them.   Your arm-"

"Is practically healed," he interrupted, smiling at her outrage. When she opened her mouth to complain once more, he moved to silence her with a kiss. "There's naught but a scratch remaining, a chuisle," he assured her in a low rumble she felt as much as heard.  He pulled back slightly, letting his gaze travel wolfishly across her, lingering on her breasts which were nearly spilling over the neckline of her dress. "Let me show ye there's no cause for concern."

She recognized the tone of his voice and knew she didn't really want to fight him, but being Donna Noble, she did anyway. 

“Peter, put me down,” she insisted, forcing a calm, reasonable tone she didn’t feel.  "I am perfectly capable-,” 

“Of doin’ any number of things, outstandingly well and entirely by yerself, a ghrá geal,” he murmured against her ear, sending a shiver of delight throughout her body.  “As far as I can discern, the only skill ye lack is the ability to recognize the seduction technique of a determined suitor.”  Donna bit her lip to stifle the moan that betrayed her, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips played against her neck.  Her fists tightened reflexively around his lapels and she felt his lips relax against her throat into that lazy smile she loved, the one that held a world of possibilities.  He slowed to a stop in the middle of her hallway and leaned back again to study her face.  “Now, if yer really wantin' me to release ye, ye’ve but to ask,” he stated quietly, waiting for her response.   

She considered for the length of one heartbeat before she loosened her stranglehold on his collar and swallowed.  “Mind the dress, Policeman,” she huffed.

“Oh, I do,” he confessed as he entered her bedroom and lowered her feet to the ground.  She gave him a quick peck before starting towards the bed, intending to use it to stabilize herself as she climbed down from her heels, but Peter apparently had other ideas. 

“I do mind the dress, especially as it has the audacity to come between us,” he whispered, catching Donna about the waist and circling around her, his eyes roving hungrily over her form as she stood in the middle of the room. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and as she cocked her head to the side with an eyebrow raised in inquiry, Peter pressed himself against her back to take advantage of her posture and kiss the long column of her neck. Her added height meant that she could almost lay her head back across his shoulder and Donna could feel his arousal as he pulled her closer. 

"I take it you like the dress then," she sighed, leaning into him and feeling his cock twitch against her bum despite the layers of cloth between them. 

"Oh, aye," he breathed, "it's quite fetchin'. Ye know I always love ye in blue.”  He traced the daring neckline of the cocktail dress with a long finger as he prowled around her once more, lightly brushing the swell of her breasts and the almost feral look he gave her was enough on its own to get the hair on the back of her neck to rise.  He leaned in slowly, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, yet Peter was careful to maintain a millimeter of space between their bodies as he captured her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless.  He ended the kiss far too soon by Donna’s reckoning, and the knowing and slightly smug smirk on his face left her feeling shivery and wanton.  "It's a lovely contrast with yer hair and it brings out the colour of yer eyes,” Peter continued almost casually as his finger once again returned to the very edge of the dusky blue silk, languidly following the fabric up and over her shoulder as he moved to embrace her once more.    

"Truth be told, though, it's what's inside I find most appealin',” he growled, dipping his fingertips into the plunging back and easing down the zip he found there.  He kissed her again as she felt the bodice loosen from her body. When it parted in the back, Peter slowly pushed the straps down her shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor to pool at her feet.  Eyes dark with desire, Peter extended his hand, inviting her to step out of the dress as she stood in only her undergarments, precariously perched atop those ridiculous shoes.  He dropped to his haunches in front of her, then surprised her by scooping up the dress and replacing it on the hanger, smoothing down the silk as it hung over one mirrored door of her wardrobe.

“I meant to show you the green dress,” Donna breathed, suddenly self-conscious as he stalked back to her and Peter reveled in the tiny gasp she made when he stopped just shy and pulled her the last few centimeters to him.  It was just enough to disturb her equilibrium and he waited until she found her footing before gently turning her to face their reflection, smiling darkly as her breathing faltered once more when she met his gaze in the mirror.  Donna Noble was about as far from a shrinking violet as it was possible to be and when she decided to beguile him, she was all brass and sass, much to his delight.  But when he initiated the seduction, Peter could always catch her off guard, unable to deny the depths of his desire for her. 

“Aye and before this night is done, I'd like to see ye in the green,” Peter breathed against her shoulder, his lips grazing her skin, Donna’s eyes fluttering shut. “But to do that, we’ll need to be gettin' you out of these…” he said, letting his fingers skim the lace of her knickers, his voice rumbling low in his chest, "and, eventually, into that matchin' set I saw still in the box.”  He ghosted his hands down her curves, skimming her body and setting her nerves to thrumming. “But we’re in no hurry, aye?” 

He circled around again, leisurely caressing as he went, and when he finally stopped behind her once more, Peter gathered her hair to one side and bit gently into the round of her shoulder before swiping his tongue over the spot. Donna reached back for him but before she could so much as touch him, he guided her hands smoothly back to her sides and continued his exploration of her body, blazing a trail of open-mouthed kisses across her shoulder and up her neck.  Donna flushed when she realized he'd done it again- Peter had her nearly starkers and weak with desire while he hadn't so much as loosened his tie. 

She moaned and dropped her head back against him, her hands twitching in frustration as he cradled her chin and nibbled at her ear.  “Policeman, I want you," she confessed.  She raised one trembling hand to stroke his cheek as he stood behind her, smiling at the faint stubble she found there. "Let me-"

"Shhhhhhh,” Peter said quietly, turning his head slightly, kissing first her palm and then the tip of each finger before splaying his own fingers wide against her cheek and guiding her gaze back to the mirror. "All in good time, a chuisle," he whispered, gently stroking her neck and watching in fascination as her pulse throbbed beneath his fingertips.  "All in good time. Comin' home and findin' ye like this was a gift, and I intend to take my time in the unwrappin'.”  He unfastened the hooks on her bra and pushed the straps down her arms, cupping her breasts as she let the satin slide free of her body. Donna felt his erection, hot, hard and heavy against her bum as he ground his hips against her with a growl.  She shifted her weight, pushing her arse back against his cock, feeling distinctly off-balance as she teetered precariously on those ridiculous shoes. His thumbs brushed her nipples and she arched back against him with a hiss of pleasure.

"You weren't meant to see this yet," Donna forced out over a shudder as his long fingers slithered sinuously across her thigh, pausing only to pop free the tiny clasp holding up her stocking. 

"I've always considered unexpected gifts to be the best presents," Peter countered smoothly. He hooked his thumbs into the dark blue satin straps at her hips and eased them down to the top of her thighs. She started for the front clasp of the other stocking, about to protest that he'd forgotten to release the other fastenings when he guided her hands back to her sides while smoothly stepping in front of her.  He kissed her again, then dropped to his knees beside her and unfastened the back strap fastening.  Peter carefully slid the stocking back up her leg, replacing the garter straps beneath her knickers and with a saucy waggle of his eyebrows, he let the back elastic snap into place across her bum with a sharp snap. 

With a tart, “Oi!”, Donna jumped and grasped Peter’s shoulders to steady herself before biffing the top of his head.  He grinned up at her as he gently moved her hands back to their previous positions, then paused to kiss the spot where sheer silk met silken flesh before shifting over to repeat his actions on her other leg, minus the arse slap. When he brought her knickers swiftly and smoothly to the floor, Donna realized what Peter’s maneuverings had accomplished: he'd managed to divest her of her satin briefs while leaving her stockings firmly in place.  Donna could stand it no longer and she raised her hands to tangle in his hair, scratching gently as he closed his eyes with a faint sigh. 

“I love you, Policeman,” she whispered, fisting her hands in his hair as he clasped her around the waist, pressing his cheek to her belly.  “I don’t know how, but from the first time I saw you, properly, at the George, I knew.  I just knew.  I knew you were the one I'd been lookin' for my whole life.”  She looked down at the impossibly beautiful man knelt before her and ruthlessly bit back an inexplicable need to cry.  "I didn't believe it, mind," she scoffed self-deprecatingly, "but I still knew.” 

Peter climbed to his feet and took Donna back into his arms, smoothing her hair back before resting his thumbs on her cheekbones, framing her face in his hands.  She looked into his eyes and smiled tremulously, hardly daring to believe he was looking at her with such emotion, and Peter's heart soared when he realized she was regarding him with clear, wide-eyed wonder without a flicker of fear.  He slowly stroked her cheek and gave silent thanks that instead of driving her away as it had done in the past, this time his tender gesture drew her even closer.  “I love ye, Donna Noble,” he told her earnestly, "more than I’ve ever loved anyone else before.”

An almost-sob broke free from Donna and she hastily turned her face away, trying to recover. “Policeman, I don’t kno-"

"Hear my soul speak,” he interrupted passionately, gently guiding her face back to him.  "The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.”

“Oh, Peter-,” she breathed, moving to kiss him again, but he continued speaking even as she melted against him.

"What made me love thee?” he whispered ardently, his lips brushing hers gently as he spoke.  "Let that persuade thee there's something extraordinary in thee.  I cannot.”  He kissed her again properly, then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “But I love thee; none but thee; and thou deservest it.”  He held her securely and, walking her backwards three steps, he laid Donna across her bed, covering her body with his own and trapping her hands between them.  "I’ll tell ye this, each and every day, for the rest of our lives, if need be.  I’ll shout it to the world until ye listen to me,” he promised in her ear.

Donna inhaled sharply and stiffened beneath Peter before abruptly pushing him up. “Say that again,” she demanded, twisting her head back so that she could look him in the eye.  “What you just said, Policeman.  Say it again.”  As he lifted himself off her in surprise, she studied his face intently, clutching at his arms to stop him moving away. He shifted most of his weight from her body but still held her gaze.  “Couldn’t move,” she offered in awkward explanation for her actions, but Peter was practiced at detecting half-truths. He looked down at her with a bewildered frown but complied with her request nonetheless. 

“I love thee; none but thee-“

“Not that part, Copper,” Donna barked, biting her lower lip in sudden consternation. She looked at him pleadingly before continuing in a more moderate tone.  "Those are someone else’s words.  I want to hear what you have to say,” she confessed, “and I want to see your face when you say it.” 

“The words may belong to Shakespeare, Donna, but the feelings are my own,” Peter stated quietly.  “I love ye and only ye, and I plan on spendin' the rest of my life makin’ sure ye understand and believe that, if ye’ll let me."  He looked deeply into her eyes as he spoke and he saw something in her gaze shift, as if some barrier fell away and she could see him clearly for the first time.  "I mean it, Donna.  I want the world to know I love ye.” He fell silent, watching and wondering when she smiled slightly and reached up to caress his cheek in conscious imitation of his earlier action.

“So, you and me, it’s like destiny?” she asked breathlessly.  She traced over the lines of his face, smiling when he kissed her fingertips as they brushed over his lips.  "It's like the pattern's finally complete, the strands are drawn together.  You and me, forever?” 

“Have I given ye cause t’ doubt that, a ghrá?”  Peter asked, his voice low and full of concern.  "Do ye doubt me?"

“No, of course not,” Donna responded immediately, kissing him soundly.

“Then what-?”

“Peter, I know I love you and I know you love me.  This is just me bein’ bonkers."  She shook her head, unable to believe she was having this conversation with him now.  "But there was somethin’ in the way you said it, it just …”  She paused, biting her lip again as she shook her head.  "I needed to make sure that …well, that it was you that said it and that we were talkin’ about the same thing.  The same kind of love.”  Donna toyed with his hair for a moment, then dropped her gaze to meet his. "I love you, Peter Carlisle, more than anyone I've ever known. I'm gonna be with you forever."  She paused for an instant before smiling broadly and kissing the tip of his nose. 

“Do ye mean that, Donna?  Because I’ve been told that in the past as well, and usually just before the women in my life have left me,” he mused sadly.  “I do nae want to lose ye.”

"I'd like to see you try and get rid of me," she teased and Peter breathed an internal sigh of relief as Donna's vision stayed focused and unflinching, untroubled by ghosts of the past. 

Peter opened his mouth to speak but Donna pulled him down and swallowed any words he might have said. "That’s enough talkin’ for one day, Copper,” she finally murmured, her raised eyebrow an obvious challenge, her lips compressed into a smirk to stop them breaking into an unseemly grin. She rolled towards him slightly and, taking her hint, Peter moved over her carefully and settled back between her legs.  She arched up against him, tugging at his hair as she slowly traced the contours of his lips with her tongue, and Peter inhaled sharply when she raised one leg, slowly dragging that insane shoe up the back of his leg before resting the heel gingerly in the seat of his trousers. 

“You say you love me?" she teased, flexing her hips and letting her heel just barely bite into his bum.  He groaned in appreciation, sucking in a breath between gritted teeth as he reached down to grab her thigh.   "I reckon it’s time for you to start suitin' the action to the word and the word to the action.”  Her lips relaxed in a slow, sultry smile and Peter launched himself off her suddenly, removing his tie and stripping off his clothes almost perfunctorily in his haste to return to her, his gaze never leaving hers.  Donna’s smile turned wicked as she watched his coat slide from his shoulders and she laughed at the resultant loud 'thunk' when he tossed it over his shoulder.

“I just hope after that,” she smirked, “we aren’t out this evenin’ gettin’ you a new mobile.”

Peter’s fingers faltered around a cuff button for a fraction of a second.  "My mobile, my mobile," he thought, "there’s somethin’ about my mo “- but then Donna flexed her knees and planted those obscenely dangerous blue satin shoes fractionally apart on the sheets, their added height pulling her hips off the bed and into the air.  Peter swallowed hard, watching as she parted her knees slightly then slid her feet apart so she could lower her bum, but this forced her to flex her back and thrust her bare breasts up towards him.  He just managed to free the irritating cuff and fling the shirt away when Donna reached up to cover her breasts with her hands, biting her lip and spreading her fingers slowly so that he could see her erect nipples peek out from behind. 

Peter promptly redoubled his efforts and Donna smiled appreciatively when he stood again, his cock bobbing proudly before him.  His hands were warm on her knees as he knelt before them and Donna opened herself to him, letting the satin shoes slide down the bed beside him.  She reached up for him, drawing Peter closer and she gasped aloud as the tip of his cock slid over her aching core.  She bucked up against him as he pulled back, teasing her clit again and again before he sank deep into her embrace with a heartfelt moan.

Donna threw her head back at the sensation of being filled and Peter pulled back slowly before reentering her again and again.  She was warm and wet and wonderful and Peter braced himself against the bed with his hands on either side her head, intending to set a leisurely pace that would leave them both shivering on the edge. Donna clenched his biceps, careful to avoid the injury that she realized really was almost healed and urged him closer, needing to feel his skin on hers.  He began to lower himself onto her just as Donna moved to slide out of her shoes and bring her legs up around him but Peter laid a hand on her thigh, slipping his thumb under the top of her stocking.  “Leave them,” he pleaded, breathing hard and twisting his hips slightly as he thrust into her again. 

“As you wish,” she murmured, wrapping her legs around him and letting the heel of her shoe just graze the tender skin on the back of his leg.  Peter groaned and levered himself up, grabbing at the headboard for support, lifting off Donna just enough to watch her breasts bounce.  She raised her hands above her head and braced herself against the headboard as Peter began to thrust in ernest, his teeth bared, his breath coming in sharp, shallow pants as he strained to maintain his concentration.  Donna tilted her hips up slightly and tightened her silk-clad thighs around his arse and Peter responded by slamming into her with such force, she suspected had she not had her hands up for support, she might actually have been shifted several inches up the bed. One more stroke and another clever twist of his hips and Donna came hard, wailing his name in pleasure as she did.

He waited just a moment for her to catch her breath before collapsing onto Donna and rolling them over swiftly, coming to rest on his back beneath her.  Kneeling over him, her eyes widened in surprise as Peter grabbed her knees, pushing them apart slightly so that she slid further down onto his cock.  “Headboard,” he croaked, glancing almost frantically between it and her hand until Donna nodded once and complied breathlessly. Their new position left his hands free to wander as he pounded up into her and he grabbed Donna's arse cheek, dancing his fingers across the tight garter strap as he stroked her clit, ruthlessly driving her towards another climax.  Her breasts jiggled invitingly before him and he let go of her bum to wrap an arm around her back, bringing her nipple into range of his hungry mouth and, as he licked her hard peak, Donna shuddered around him once more.

Peter groaned under her, throwing his head back and gripping her hips as he strained up into her.  He clutched madly at her garter belt as he screwed his eyes shut, and with a strangled cry, he emptied himself into her just as Donna collapsed onto his chest in a boneless heap.  They lay together in a tangle of limbs, and for once, both were stunned into silence.  When Donna finally returned to her senses, she rolled off him and onto her side with a sigh, reaching over to play with Peter's sweat-dampened fringe.

“Garter belts and insane heels, huh?”  was all she could manage, grinning over at him.  “Who would have guessed?”

Peter blinked slowly and turned to her, his own answering smile lazy and sated.  “I do nae want you tryin’ to walk in those things, Donna.  A fall from that height would be perilous.”

“I guess I’ll take them back tomorrow, then,” Donna agreed wistfully.  “You have to admit, they are gorgeous, though.”

Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “Who said an’thin’ about takin’ them back?” he demanded.  “I simply pointed out that I donae want ye walkin’ about in them.”  He waggled his eyebrows at her with a lascivious grin before reaching down to trace the black lace that ran around the tops of her stockings.

“What made ye get these?” he asked, letting his fingers follow his eyes up and around the garter belt at her waist.

"It was Maddie's idea," she confessed, swallowing carefully as Peter’s fingers slipped beneath the lace.  “She said we deserved something a bit darin’, considerin’ what we’re about to do."

Peter nodded his approval.  “Well, then,” he declared passionately, reaching for her again. “From this night on, in perpetuity, Maddie's first drink is on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to several sites:  
> A ghrá = "love"  
> A ghrá geal=“beloved"  
> A chuisle ="pulse" as in heartbeat


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It’s now,” he thought bleakly, staring down at his mobile. He carefully disengaged it from the sync station attached to his laptop and paused, contemplating the device as it lay cradled in his hand. "It’s now or never. I’ve no reason to postpone-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All this is originally posted at my LiveJournal- http://www.dtstrainers.livejournal.com  
> Many thanks to the lovely serenityslady over there -http://serenityslady.livejournal.com, who graciously offered her awesome beta reader skills. Thanks always for the support and suggestions.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012  7:44 PM  
  
"It’s now,” he thought bleakly, staring down at his mobile.  He carefully disengaged it from the sync station attached to his laptop and paused, contemplating the device as it lay cradled in his hand. "It’s now or never.  I’ve no reason to postpone-“  
  
“Peter, how many boxes do you want to take tonight?” Donna called out from the other room, startling him from his ruminations.  "I know we’ve got another four weeks to clear you out of here, but the more we take now, the less we'll have to do later.  And should I gather up some clothes, too?  We don’t have to take them from the hangers, we can just lay them over the boxes in the back seat and then move them to the wardrobe at home.”    
  
“Uh, yeah,” he answered, feeling distinctly nonplussed.  "Whatever ye want.”  
  
She poked her head around the corner and frowned, taking in his odd, almost guilty expression as he slipped his mobile into his pocket.  He pasted on a cheery grin which relaxed into a genuine smile as he realized what she’d just said: home.  
  
“Are you all right, Copper?” Donna asked, coming into the living room and setting down the box she carried before picking her way across the cluttered flat to stand in front of him.  “What’s wrong?  What’s that look for?” she fired off, not waiting for his answer.  “Don’t tell me, let me guess: indigestion?  I mean I can’t believe the amount of food in that tiffin you put away tonight!  I must admit, that bit of chicken tikka makhani you shared was good enough that I don’t half blame you, but you’re sufferin’ for it now, aren’t cha?" she babbled nervously, reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. "I’ll bet you’re gonna miss havin’ a place to crash so close after one of those massive meals at the Bulls Head."  
   
"Donna, I’m fine,” he assured her quietly, reaching to take both her hands in his.  “I'm no feelin' any ill effects from dinner, I promise. But there is somethin' I need to talk to ye about, somethin’ I found out yesterday.  I’ve been thinkin’ about how best to tell ye and I think we should sit down,“ he said firmly, but his conviction wavered at the uncertainty in her eyes. He tugged his ear and nodded towards the couch, watching as the tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips while she tried to process what he was saying.  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing at it nervously for a moment before she realized he was looking at her expectantly.    
  
“OK, Copper,” she blustered, tossing her head to swing her hair over her shoulder.  “But I warn you, it’s too late to tell me you want the right side of the wardrobe.  I’ve already settled all my clothes and things and I’m of no mind to move them just to suit your whim.” Donna schooled her her features into cautious curiosity but Peter felt the tension in the room ratchet up with each beat of his heart.  
  
“It’s nothin’ like that, a chuisle.  Everythin's fine, I promise.”  Peter smiled reassuringly as he led her to the sofa, pushing a box of books out of the way to make room for the both of them to sit.   He settled her in beside him and turned so that he could face her.  “I have some information I need to share with ye and after we’ve discussed the implications, ye'll have a decision to make."  
  
“Oh, and that doesn’t sound at all ominous,” Donna breathed, sitting up straighter, her eyes searching his face for a sign.  “Just tell me, Peter- are you havin’ second thoughts?  Did I rush you into this, movin’ in and all?  Cos there’s no hurry, you know, we can wait if you want.  I mean-"  
  
“Donna,” Peter sighed. “I’ve told ye, I want this.  I want to be with ye.  Do ye no trust me?”  
  
“Of course I do,” she replied instantly, her voice wavering slightly. “But you’re makin’ me nervous, Policeman.”    
  
“There’s no cause for ye to be upset,” he assured her.  He squeezed her hand gently, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, looking down at their interlaced fingers for a moment as he gathered his courage.  “I know I promised to stop lookin’ into yer past,” he said earnestly, gazing up into her worried, wary eyes.  “And I had every intention of acquiescin' to yer wishes, I honestly did. But in this instance, yer past came lookin’ fer me.”  
  
“What are you tellin’ me, Policeman?” Donna whispered, her eyes growing wide.    
  
"That man, Jack Harkness, the one you confronted in S&G,” Peter said evenly, watching her all the while.  “He found me the other night an-“  
  
“WHAT?!?" she shrieked, almost rising to her feet in fear.    
  
“Donna, shhhh.  It’s fine, I’m fine, it’s all right,” he murmured comfortingly, reaching for her hands and drawing her back to him again.  
  
"Oh, Peter, you said he was dangerous!  When did this happen?" she demanded frantically, gripping his hand tighter. "Where were you?  What did he want?  Who was -“  
  
"A ghrá geal,” he murmured, pulling her closer.  “It’s all right.  I’ll answer all yer questions, I promise.  Just be patient and stay calm for me, aye?”  
  
Donna eyed him nervously before giving him a short, sharp nod of agreement and Peter smiled despite himself.  
  
“Two weeks back, the night you and Maddie went to inspect the lightin’ in the new gallery after dinner, Captain Harkness was waitin’ for me in the car park when I left Ian’s flat,” he said slowly, monitoring Donna’s reactions.  She swallowed hard but otherwise appeared composed, nodding again for him to continue.  
  
“He wanted to talk and judgin' by what he had to say, I’m fairly sure it wasnae an officially-approved visit,” he mused, scratching at the back of his neck, his face scrunched up in thought.  
  
“Oh, any visit from him is officially unwelcome by me. Just the sight of that man makes me want to crawl right out of my skin,” Donna muttered, hugging herself tightly.  "I dunno what it is exactly, but there’s somethin’ about him that just isn’t right.  If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his distance in future,” she added with a dismissive nod.  “And he may be pretty but he’s entirely up himself as well."  
  
Peter snorted in amusement and allowed himself a tiny but proud smile before he continued.  “As I was sayin’, the good Captain had some information to pass on and a bit of a warnin’.  He admitted that Torchwood has been keepin' tabs on ye, monitorin' yer health remotely and even goin’ so far as to actively put surveillance on ye since we’ve been together.”  
  
“But why?” Donna interrupted indignantly, her patience with her entire situation wearing a bit thin.  “Why all this trouble about me?  I’m nothin’, a nobody!  I’m just a temp, for Go-“  
  
“No, Donna, no in my presence,” he interrupted, putting a restraining finger to her lips.  “Remember, ye’re no to talk that way any longer.  Now, let me finish, aye?”  Donna harrumphed, pulling her hands back and awkwardly crossing her arms over her chest.  Her eyes flicked nervously between his face and his hands, laying limply on his knees where she’d left them.  
  
“The good Captain wanted me t’ know that his mandate was to protect ye, and that yer memory loss is due to some sort of an accident involvin' Dr. Smith.  Once again, someone somewhere seems t' think that because I bear a slight resemblance to that man, I’m somehow a danger t’ ye,” Peter continued, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of the supposition.  He sat back heavily and ran his hand through his hair, shrugging his shoulders as he continued.  “I figure that, for whatever reason, these people are relieved ye cannae recall somethin’ that happened to ye or somethin' ye saw when you were workin' for Dr. Smith.  It's drivin' me spare that I cannae find out anythin' more about him.  John Smith is an obvious pseudonym and I’ve no way to discover his true name.  Until I do, all I can prove is that he's some sort of consultant for UNIT and that ye were that man's Personal Assistant."  He spat the last two words out with a dark expression, his lip curling in disgust and Peter looked away, trying to control his temper as he searched for the words to go on.  
  
"There's more you aren't tellin' me, Peter,” Donna stated bluntly, but her tone was patient.  
  
He considered denying it then, just locking his suspicions away and burying them deep in his heart, but the bitter memory of what that particular strategy had yielded in the past forced him onward.  "Maybe it's to do with national security, or some secret project, or, or... I dunno,” he went on, waving his hand about in exasperation.  “Anyway, they’re afraid that ye bein’ with me will jog yer memory or some such nonsense, and that rememberin' will somehow put ye physically in danger.”  
  
“That’s just bonkers, Peter,” Donna scoffed.  She shifted around awkwardly, her knees bumping against his.  “What could I possibly remember that could be so dangerous? And you!  Why not tell me all this before?  Why all the spy-movie secrecy from you?”  
  
He sighed deeply and leaned forward again, bracing his elbows on his knees and running both hands violently through his hair before bringing them down to scrub his face.  For a bare instant, Peter’s face threatened to crumple as he gazed up at her before he tried again to don his mask of cool competence.  
  
"I suspect that he..." he began, then stopped again with a shake of his head.  "From some of the things ye've said… especially durin’ that last incident, in the throes of fever…” He swallowed hard before trying once more.  "Donna, I suspect that Dr. Smith ..."  
  
"Out with it, Policeman," Donna said gently, laying a hand on his knee and giving it an encouraging squeeze.  
  
“I fear that Dr. Smith may have assaulted ye physically and because of who he is, Torchwood stepped in and erased yer memory of the attack,” he finally admitted and at that, the dam within him broke and the accusations began to flow.  "I think that because of the work ye did with that man, ye knew things that UNIT and Torchwood didnae want made public, but if they had simply followed their protocols and contrived a situation to make ye vanish, the ruckus Wilf and yer mum would have kicked up would have led to uncomfortable questions.  And last, I believe Dr. Smith knows exactly where ye are and what ye're doin’, and because he fears yer memories will return if ye see him, I think he’s enlisted Torchwood in surveillin’ ye and keepin’ ye in the dark.”  
  
Donna opened her mouth to respond, but for the first time in recent memory, she was speechless.  She formulated a thousand million questions, and Peter watched as she considered and rejected them all.  She gaped at him in consternation, swallowing hard and nodding.  “Peter, I don’t think… but I don’t know,,,, I can’t remember…”    
  
"Donna, I’m afraid,” Peter confessed when she didn’t continue, slowly pulling her hands back into his lap.  He rubbed a careful thumb across her knuckles, briefly wondering at how well her hand fit his, despite the undeniable difference in size.  He forced himself to look back at her face, and the confusion he saw prompted him to continue.  "Captain Harkness, he all but admitted that Dr. Smith is responsible fer everythin’ that’s happened to ye, that he’s the reason ye cannae remember and I’m afraid of what might have happened to ye.  I’m afraid if ye remember, ye willnae be able to look at me the same way again. I'm afraid that I’ll be forever tarred with the same brush and that whenever ye look at me, I’ll be a naught but a constant reminder of whatever it is he’s done.”  
  
Shaken by his admission, Donna smiled.  “That won’t happen, Policeman,” she promised, raising a hand to his face to cup his cheek.  “I know that much.  I love you. That’s not about to change, whether I remember or no.  It’s not possible.” She tilted his head up slightly and was distressed to see the faint shimmer of tears forming as he met her gaze.  
  
"I want ye to be happy. I want ye to do whatever ye need to do for us to be happy together," he told her.  "Donna, I do nae want to lose ye, to lose what we have because of the ghosts in our respective pasts.”  
  
“Our pasts, Policeman?” Donna said softly, stroking along his jaw.  He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for as long as his guilty conscience could bear before sitting back.  
  
Peter inhaled deeply and frowned as he considered his next words. "Donna, ye know about Natalie.  Ye know I loved her, I truly loved her, with all my heart and soul," he explained.  "But because I loved her, I kept somethin' from her. Somethin' I should have told her straightaway, as soon as I knew. But I thought I was protecting her; her and Danny both, by keeping what I'd learned to myself."  
  
"And what was that, Policeman?" she asked.  
  
He shifted in his seat, glancing at the ceiling and exhaling heavily before he replied.  “Durin’ a dinner party for her birthday, I accidentally discovered that it was her boy Danny was responsible for the murder I’d been sent to Blackpool to investigate.  Danny Holden was the one who killed Mike Hooley.”  
  
“And he just told you this?” Donna breathed, clearly horrified. “On his mum’s birthday?"  
  
Peter’s lips quirked in an ironic smile.  “No in so many words, no.  Danny settled the bill that night before I’d had the chance to and when I went to find him and repay him, I found him sitting at the bar alone.  I came up from behind the lad and laid my hand on his shoulder and told him that I knew what he'd done.  Given the circumstances and a guilty conscience, naturally, he assumed the worst."  Donna winced in sympathy but said nothing.  "He didnae confess or do anythin’ to incriminate himself.  Danny swiftly recovered his wits, but he knew his reaction had betrayed him and that the damage was done.  He left the party soon after."  
  
"So what happened next?" she asked.  
  
He sighed and braced his elbow against the back of the couch, resting his cheek in his hand.  "I skived off work the next day and drove down to Blackpool, lookin’ for a woman who’d been involved with the case.  She knew both Holdens, Danny and his father, and I knew she knew more about what had happened that night than she was tellin' at the time.  I found her at her new job and I … persuaded her ... to sit and listen while I laid out what I suspected.  When I’d finished, I knew I was right.  It all made sense.  It was an accident, mind,” Peter hastened to clarify.  “Danny’d been protectin' this woman when Hooley attacked her.  He was barely more than a kid at the time, and Hooley?  He was off his nut on drugs and whatnot. When Danny hit him, Hooley went down hard and stayed there.  The boy had no way of knowin' that Hooley was bleedin' internally, dyin’, right there on the floor in front of him.  He just knew his friend was in danger and he reacted instinctively. I can understand that.”  He fell silent and stared out of the window behind Donna.    
  
“Anyway,” he drawled abruptly, sitting up and vigorously rubbing his hands over his face once more, “it does nae matter, no anymore and no then, either.  It was just my curiosity, my need for closure that made me investigate.  I had no intention of reopenin' the case and draggin' Danny in to court, and no just fer Natalie’s sake.”  He dropped his hands and gave Donna a curiously philosophical look.  "It may not have been strictly lawful, mind, but Hooley got what was comin’ to him,” he concluded thoughtfully.    
  
Donna raised an incredulous eyebrow, unable to believe her ears.  “Peter Carlisle, you can’t mean that!” she said, aghast.  
  
“But I do,” he swore passionately.  “Hooley was a violent man.  He had a history of abusin’ women and I’ve no tolerance for a man who would raise a hand in anger to those he’s sworn to cherish and honor, through this life and into the next. His fiancée should count herself fortunate to escape the hell her life would have been with him.”   A shadow passed over Peter's fine features as he muttered, “A double blessing there will be no children made to see that, nor suffer a leathering at his hand neither.”  
  
Donna’s expression softened as she realized this man had probably seen horrors she could scarcely imagine in the course of his duties. She wondered what that might do to a sensitive soul over the course of a lifetime and as he avoided meeting her gaze, she found herself praying his vehement reaction sprang only from his professional experience.  Sensing the path to which her thoughts had turned, Peter offered up a wan smile and plowed on.  
  
"After my suspicions were more or less confirmed, I decided I'd just let it lie. After all that time, I thought that it would just go away."  He ducked his head and sniffed before scratching at his nose in a nervous gesture she'd rarely seen from him. "Little did I realize at the time that it was the worst thing I could have done.  Danny confessed to Natalie soon after and told her I knew, too.”  
  
“So she didn’t leave you just because she wanted to be on her own, then,” Donna murmured thoughtfully.  “All right.  OK.  That I can understand.”  She looked up to see the flash of pain on Peter’s face as he quickly averted his eyes.  “Oh, Peter, it’s just that what you told me before, about Natalie leaving because she said she wanted to be her own woman?  Well it just didn’t ring true.  She went through all that drama and left her husband over you, and then she just up and decides she wants to be on her own?  I didn’t buy it.  I just couldn’t believe anyone would willingly let you go, that’s all,’ she hastened to explain.  "But a mother afraid for her child?  That’s something I can understand."  
  
His lips quirked briefly into a reluctant smile before Peter swallowed hard and continued.  "She never said anythin' and neither did I. My silence, it broke us, in the end. I didnae tell her when I should have. I thought I was protectin' us, but she did nae trust me after. And regardless of the kind lies she told me about wantin’ to be on her own when she left, I knew it was because she feared for Danny and no longer trusted what I said.  If’d I’d just been honest about what I knew and when I knew it….I won't make that mistake again."  
  
Peter reached behind himself as he spoke and pulled his mobile from his hip pocket.  He stared at it, unseeing, before swallowing hard.  “Donna, after Captain Harkness found me, I followed up with the ambulance service and the paramedic who answered the call I made in the park that day.  I wanted to see if he could corroborate what I’d learned and shed more light on yer case.  As it turns out, he did. Geoff Hinton, he .... He gave me a number.”  He stared bleakly at his mobile before thumbing it to life and laying it on the arm of the sofa between them.  
  
“What number, Policeman?” Donna whispered, warily regarding the device where it lay, staring at the number on the screen before looking back to Peter’s brave face.  
  
"A number he is to call only if ever your fever rises to 41.2°C. It's a very precise medical target, Donna, one only a doctor would be likely to specify.  Donna,” Peter whispered earnestly, “I’m sure that if you were to press that button and make that call, you'd be talking to your Doctor Smith."  
  
Donna regarded Peter’s phone where it lay, clearly weighing up her options. He clasped his hands together, forcing himself to watch her deliberations, determined not to influence her decision even as his heart attempted to hammer through his rib cage from within.  “You want me to make this call?” Donna asked slowly, her voice unwavering.  “Here?  Now?"  
  
“If that’s what ye want.  If that will make ye happy,” he replied immediately.  Peter set his jaw and looked into Donna's eyes, determined to hide his pain and fear and remain supportive.  “I just want ye to know, whatever ye decide, whatever happens…I love ye, Donna.  I’m here for ye, no matter what.  I want ye to be happy, and if that means that ye find yer past again and decide to-"  
  
"Hand it over, Copper,” Donna interrupted with deadly calm, her palm turned up expectantly.  He hesitated for the briefest of moments before passing his mobile to her.  Peter held his breath and swallowed as Donna clasped it to her chest and closed her eyes for the span of his frantic heartbeat.  She glanced once more at the innocuous device in her hand before looking back into Peter’s eyes and she calmly punched the button that deleted the entry entirely.    
  
“I told you once, you prawn,” she said, her eyes shining as she tossed his mobile back.  “You are the man I've been lookin’ for my whole life.  It doesn’t matter that I can’t remember.  I know I have never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I never will again.  That’s what you have to remember.”  Her teasing smile stretched into a full-on grin when she saw Peter’s expression morph as he realized what she’d done.  Donna reached out and stroked his cheek, leaning forward and pressing him against the box behind him as she kissed him deeply.  “Now, what say you about the two of us goin’ to your bedroom to disturb your long-suffering upstairs neighbor one last time, for old time’s sake?”  
  
“Oh, aye, Miss Noble,” he agreed, standing and pulling her up after him into a tender embrace.  He smiled against her lips and whispered,  “Let’s leave the upstairs and downstairs neighbors with somethin’ to complain about in the lift long after we’re gone from here."  
  



	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So then Maddie turns to me and she said she needed to get a new shirt for Ian to wear to the opening gala and before we knew it, it just sort of grew into this massive shopping extravaganza,” Donna chattered, practically skipping down the sidewalk in her enthusiasm.

**Friday, 27 July 2012, 6:40 PM**  
  
“So then Maddie turns to me and she said she needed to get a new shirt for Ian to wear to the opening gala and before we knew it, it just sort of grew into this massive shopping extravaganza,” Donna chattered, practically skipping down the sidewalk in her enthusiasm.  
  
"Is this becomin’ a habit with the two of ye?  Should I be concerned?” he asked, clearly smitten with her exuberance and smiling to himself, as they made their way hand in hand down the Chiswick high road, her lively recounting of her day’s activities washing over him.  The street was bustling with people making their way to wherever they’d planned to spend this historic Friday evening and Peter found himself wondering just how overcrowded they’d find the George when they finally arrived.  
  
“Well, yeah, when I do go shoppin’, it’s usually with Nerys, but this was different, wasn’t it?” Donna continued, gesturing madly with her free hand.  "It was just so nice, goin’ out with someone who didn't expect anythin’.  When Maddie oohed and ahhed over somethin’, it wasn’t a one-way ticket to a guilt trip into buyin’ it for her,” she explained earnestly.  "We didn’t plan it, not really.  We were leaving a plannin' meetin' for the charity gala to celebrate Urban Scrawl's project launch and it started pourin’ down buckets.  We ducked into the nearest open shop which turned out to be Crombie's and we hadn’t been there five minutes when Maddie turns to me and says, 'Donna, I know Ian.  He’s got one good suit and he wears it until it’s nearly fallin' apart.  If we’re to do this thing properly, he’s goin' to need more than just that.’ “  
  
Peter snickered and gave Donna a lopsided grin.  “If I were to hazard a guess, dependin’ on her definition of ‘good’, I’d have to agree with Maddie's assessment,” he admitted.  "Ian is a practical man.  What with our line of work and his social calendar, there’s little cause for anythin’ beyond one actual suit.”  
  
“That’s exactly what she said,” Donna crowed, not bothering to stifle a guffaw even as she pulled Peter closer to dodge around a couple with a pushchair.  "So I told her she was just anglin’ for permission to go and buy somethin’ she wanted to see him in, and she laughed and the next thing I know, we're pickin' out suits and ties and shirts, and then we charged ahead, looking at shoes and overcoats and accessories!”  She glanced over her shoulder at Peter quickly to gauge his reaction as she plowed on.  "I mean, we picked out a simply obscene amount of clothes, Policeman, enough for an entire year for GQ’s bloody Best Dressed list, for God’s sake.  We were comparin' colors, you know, to make sure the four of us wouldn’t clash, and then we’re schedulin' appointments for fittings.  It was just the maddest thing-"  
  
Peter stopped mid-stride as something Donna said brought him up short.  “Wait…what?” he asked, pulling her out of the flow of traffic.  "The four of us?  What d’ye mean, schedulin' fittings?  For Ian, right?”  
  
“Well, duh,” she laughed, mock-punching him on the shoulder as she prepared to launch them back into the crowd once more.  "For you and Ian, of course.”  
  
“Fer the both of us?” Peter squeaked and at the sound of his voice, Donna turned to him and the smile fell from her face.    
  
“Peter, what’s wrong?” she asked as the crowd began to surge around them.  
  
“Well, it’s just…” he began awkwardly, searching for the right words and rubbing at the back of his neck. He chewed his lip for a moment before chancing a look at her.  
  
“What?  What is it?” Donna demanded, her sudden misgivings hidden beneath a cocked eyebrow and a cascade of crimson.  
  
“I dinnae want ye to do that, Donna,” he exhaled, dropping his hand from his neck and frowning at his feet.  He looked up at her suddenly.  “I dinnae want—"  
  
“Oh, Peter, I’m rushin' you again, aren’t I?” she murmured, reaching out as though to touch his arm but then pulling back at the last possible second.  “Me buyin’ you clothes, without even askin’, it’s too familiar, isn’t it?”  
  
“Donna, —“ Peter said gently in an attempt to stem the oncoming rush of insecurity.  
  
"I just, you know, assumed and I, I, I never asked,” she stammered over his attempt to speak, plucking at an invisible thread on her sleeve.  “It’s just that I know my own wardrobe needs sprucin’ up—   ”  
  
“Don-na —” he tried again, to no avail as she plowed ahead.  
  
“And then Maddie's so excited,” she rattled on nervously, staring down at her feet to avoid his eyes as she madly gestured about, "and I mean, yeah, Ian has to go to all these openings and parties now, doesn’t he, what with them gettin’ engaged and all, but that doesn’t mean you have to, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t and—“  
  
Peter blinked and grasped her shoulders, turning to face her fully.  “What?” he blurted out, his mind tripping over her hurried rush of words.  
  
“What, what?” she asked, gaping at him in confusion.  
  
“What was that about Ian and Maddie gettin’ engaged?” Peter demanded, grasping at the one coherent concept he could pluck from her torrent of babble.  
  
"Well, nearly engaged,” Donna amended, blanching and taking a half-step back, barely pausing for breath before rabbiting on again.   "I mean, it's not formal or anythin', not yet, he just blurted it out after supper Wednesday night, didn’t he?"  
  
“What?” Peter repeated, feeing a bit stupid as he tried once more to assimilate the wild rush of information coming from the woman before him into some sort of coherent whole.  He reached out and caught her by the arms and side-stepped them up against the bakery window, completely out of the flow of foot traffic. “What are ye on about, a ghrá?"  
  
“Ian asked Maddie to marry him,” Donna said bluntly. She cocked her head to the side and regarded Peter curiously for a moment before continuing.   "She said he’s been twitchy around her for days now and when they were out havin’ a curry Wednesday night, Ian was so nervous, he hammered back four beers before dinner even arrived.  Then, when they finally did get served, he passed her the naan and tried to casually slip it into the conversation.”  She popped her hands up, waving them about on either side of her face and launched into an exaggerated imitation of Ian’s baritone.  “He was all ‘Oh here, Maddie, this naan is fantastic and would you please consider marrying me?’ and Maddie nearly choked on her vindaloo, didn’t she! When she could breathe again, she told him that if he came back with a ring, then the answer would be yes, because she’d know he was serious and had thought it out properly and it wasn’t just the beer talkin',” Donna explained, glad to have something to sidetrack their own conversation.  “She told him that otherwise, she'd just pretend it never happened," Donna added, her growing concern colouring her voice.  “You didn’t know?” she nudged when Peter stood there staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused and his tongue pressed up behind slightly-parted teeth.  
  
"Well, that explains that," Peter mused to himself, gently running his hands up and down her arms, nodding absently.  “No,” he finally responded, looking down at her.  “No, he didnae say anythin’, but I did suspect that somethin’ of the sort was comin'.  Ian took an overlong lunch by himself yesterday and when he got back, he spent the better part of the day frantically pattin' himself down, checkin' that no one had had picked his pockets in the five minutes previous.”  He found himself smiling at the memory now that the mystery was solved.  
  
“And he didn’t say anything today?” Donna asked incredulously.  
  
“I didnae see him today,” Peter admitted.  “The both of us were landed in last-minute briefings concernin' updates to security arrangements at the various Olympic venues and the emergency procedures in place in the event of any major disturbances. Ian was assigned as backup for the Opening Ceremonies tonight."  He sighed morosely and scratched at his nose before sniffing loudly.  "I drew the Aquatics Centre and Synchronized Swimming next week," he admitted and Donna had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing at his expression. "No that there have been any credible threats to the games, mind, and even if there were, it’s highly unlikely that anyone from our department would be called in, but with somethin' of this size and nature, better safe than sorry.”  He fell silent, rubbing at his jaw.    
  
"But Donna, about that fittin'…” he finally drawled, scratching at his ear.  
  
Donna watched warily as she mentally replayed their conversation, her heart galloping madly as she waited for the inevitable.  She took a deep breath and tried to hide it, looking down at his hands still on her arms.  “It’s alright, Peter,” she assured him preemptively.  "I’ll call and cancel.  Like I said, I shouldn’t have assumed that just because I have to go to some posh shindig, you’d want to co —"  
  
“No,” Peter interrupted firmly.  "It’s no that.  I want to be with you, wherever ye go.  It’s just, ye dinnae have to shop for me. I’m perfectly capable of purchasin' whatever is required so as not to embarrass—“  
  
"Policeman, I’m not embarrassed, not by you!" she exclaimed.  "You could show up in jeans and trainers and your ratty old sweatshirt and I’d still be proud to have you with me.  I just….I got carried away is all, shopping with Maddie and I know how nervous I am about this whole thing, not having the proper clothes and bein’ around all these fancy people and I thought, well, new clothes might help make you feel more comfortable there, too.  I mean, my own wardrobe is sorely lackin' the appropriate attire.  There’s just not much call for a temp to get all gussied up and hang about with Lord and Lady Muck and it’s not like I run with a crowd that requires-"  
  
"Donna, stop.  It’s no that.  No a’tall,” he assured her with a shake of his head.  "It was thoughtful of ye and I appreciate it, but the fact of the matter is that I’m no with ye for yer money.”  
  
“I never thought you were,” Donna said, cocking her head to the side and fixing Peter with an incredulous stare.  “Where on Earth did that idea come from?”    
  
“Where did it come from?  Well...,” he prevaricated, mentally grasping about for the proper words, bouncing his head back and forth for a moment before giving in.  “From about six miles over yonder,” he admitted with a vaguely awkward gesture.  
  
“I’m sorry?” Donna blurted out, staring at him as though he’d gone barmy.  
  
"It’s yer mum, actually,” he finally sighed.  
  
“My. Mum?” she enunciated, clearly not expecting that response.  
  
“That first night I met yer family, properly, at dinner, it’s somethin’ she said to me when you and Wilf were gettin' acquainted with the baby,” Peter said almost bashfully.  "She…she accused me of courtin’ ye for yer money and it’s bothered me ever after.  I was fair affronted that she could think that, and more than a mite angry,” he confessed, studying the sidewalk beneath his feet.  He abruptly straightened, looking at Donna earnestly.  “I’ll no give her cause...I just dinnae want a repeat of…,” he stammered in frustration.  He stopped again, closing his eyes and shaking his head before taking a deep, calming breath.   When he finally opened his eyes, his voice was steady and determined.  “I’ll no have her disrespectin’ ye that way again on my account, thinkin’ I’m only with ye for financial gain,” he vowed.  “No if I can help it."  
  
“What?” Donna repeated, her voice softening as understanding dawned.  He took her by the arm and led her away from the crowds, just around the corner and into the alleyway.  
  
“Of course I want to go with ye,” he whispered fervently, moving in close and gently squeezing her arms.  “Yer foundation and yer work with Maddie are important and I want to be there with ye.  I’m happy to get whatever ye deem necessary, no matter the expense.  Ye dinnae have to kit me out to….to…to bribe me to escort ye, ye know,” he asserted.  
  
“Oh, Policeman,” Donna breathed, “you really don’t get it, do you?  It’s not a bribe.  It makes me happy to fuss over you a bit.  It’s nice to have someone to shop for.”    
  
“Donna, I’ll keep the appointment, but if my wardrobe isnae up to the necessary standard for events of the type ye’ll be attendin', ye're t'tell me,” he persisted, locking her in place under his intense gaze.  “And I’ll be the one to bear the expense.  Aye?”  
  
“All right, you stubborn prawn.  You win- for now,” Donna laughed, prodding him in the ribs before linking her arm in his and stepping back into the pedestrian traffic.  “Whatever you want."  
  
“Besides,” he added almost petulantly, “I do have a kilt, ye know, for formal occasions….”  
  
“You do?” she said, stopping dead again, much to the consternation of the man following who nearly plowed into her from behind.  He huffed and made a theatrical display of stepping around them which Donna pointedly ignored.  “I didn’t see it in your wardrobe when we were movin’ your clothes,” she said thoughtfully, cocking her head to the side with a frown.  “And you weren’t wearin’ one in your weddin' photos.”  
  
Peter scratched his chin thoughtfully.  “Well,” he drawled, “that was Rosslyn’s doing.  She didnae approve.  She wanted a more modern ceremony.”  
  
"But that’s not right, Peter!” Donna cried, indignant on his behalf.    
  
"Well, they say the weddin’ is for the bride and the weddin' night is for the groom,” he said with an awkward grin as he started them off towards their destination once more, throwing his arm about her shoulders and pulling her close as she fell in step beside him.  
  
"No,” Donna declared emphatically, frowning.  “No.  A. Wedding," she said, coming to a full stop and emphasizing each word with a twitch of her head, "is a ceremony that joins two lives.  It should be a celebration for both parties.  It’s a meldin' of traditions and should reflect the tastes and backgrounds of both partners.”  She blushed furiously as she realized she was lecturing Peter on the subject of weddings.  “Anyway," she blustered on, “I'll call to confirm the appointment for the fittin’.”  She chanced looking up at Peter through her lashes and he smiled his approval, giving her hand a squeeze.  Donna nodded and forced her eyes forward.  “Then we’ll figure out what you like and we’ll argue then over who’s payin’ for what.”  She paused just outside the door of the George, hand on the handle as she spoke.  "But for the inaugural gala, I’d really like it if you'd wear your kilt,” she finished quietly without daring to look at him.  
  
“I’ll make you a deal,” Peter answered without hesitation.  
  
"What’s that, Policeman?” she asked.  
  
Peter leaned in close under the guise of opening the door for them both.  “I’ll wear the kilt if you promise to wear the same under yers as I do mine,” he breathed, letting his lips brush her ear and setting her pulse to racing.  
  
“So it’s true then, what they say?!” she demanded, turning wide-eyed to him as he waved across the crowded pub to Ian and Maddie, already sat in their customary spot.  “I mean, a True Scotsman really…?”  She trailed off, waving her hand awkwardly before her own midsection.  
  
“Weeellll,” he drawled, taking her hand and favoring Donna with a naughty wink, “Let’s just say that no true Scotsman would pass up an opportunity such as this.”  
  
Peter navigated the throngs of people crowding the George, towing Donna behind and side-stepping several patrons who had stopped to watch the live coverage of the Olympic torch’s progression through the streets of London.  She clasped his hand a bit tighter and as he glanced back at her in question, Donna was relieved to see him smiling despite the commotion.  He plunged ahead, breaking free of the masses at the edge of the Throne Room.  Peter barely had time to register that Ian and Maddie had ordered the first round when the general cacophony of the pub was suddenly rent by a matching pair of girlish shrieks.  
  
“Did West Ham win the World Cup again and no one saw fit t’ tell me?” Peter quipped, reaching across the table to shake hands with a grinning Ian even as he tugged at his now nearly-deafened ear.  
  
“Something a bit more improbable than that, mate,” Ian replied, standing just in time to be tackled by a blur of red and engulfed in an enthusiastic hug.  
  
“Oh, Ian, Ian, Ian, I’m so happy for you!” Donna cried, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before abruptly releasing him and grabbing Maddie’s left hand once more.  “Maddie, it’s gorgeous!” she breathed, examining the elegant sweep of gold sat upon the third finger of her left hand.  An impressive solitaire was cupped between the ends of the band and the whole was channel-set with diamond baguettes in an almost architectural design.  Maddie wiggled her finger slightly to set the light in the stones to dancing and Donna beamed at her friend.  "Oh, you have to tell me just everythin’!” she cried, plopping down into the chair beside the beaming bride-to-be, leaving Peter to occupy himself with Maddie’s intended.  
  
“Obviously, congratulations are in order,” Peter said drily, shaking Ian’s hand before pulling the remaining chair around the table to sit beside his friend.  “And a word to the wise: for yer own sake and the safety of those around ye, no more disparaging cracks about West Ham, aye?” he added under his breath with a tiny nod of warning in Donna’s direction.  Ian’s lips twitched into a knowing smile before Donna’s squeal of delight brought him back to the present and Peter suspected the man's face might actually split in two if his grin grew any larger.  
  
“So that’s what ye were up to at lunch, aye?  Ye could’ve warned me, man,” Peter said, watching the two women across the table as Maddie recounted the details of Ian’s proposal.    
  
“So when I answer the door, Ian’s there, and he’s so pale, I’m positive he’s about to pass out on the threshold, and before I can even get a word out, he says, 'About last night,' and I’m absolutely sure he’s about to brush it off with an excuse about being a bit pissed when he pulls out this tiny little box and drops to one knee and actually says to me, “Would you, Madeline Pryor, do me the extraordinary honour, and be my wife?” Maddie gushed to Donna, admiring the ring shining on her own finger.  
  
“Oh, Maddie, he didn’t?!  It’s like somethin’ straight out of the movies!” Donna crowed, turning in her seat to slap Ian’s shoulder fondly.  "That’s just brilliant!  I’m so happy for the both of you.”  She took Maddie’s hand and held it up to the light, twisting it slightly so that the central stone flashed and winked.  “Oh, he gave this more than a passin’ thought. It suits you perfectly.”  She turned back to Ian, grinning in delight.  "Who’d have thought it?  Oh, Ian, I had you all backwards.  I always thought of you as a bit of a lemon, but I was wrong!  You’re a sherbet lemon, aren’t you!  All puckery and hard and sour on the outside but all the while hiding a bit of fizzy sweetness inside!” She smacked his arm again before turning her attention back to Maddie, leaving a bemused Ian to nurse his battered arm.  
  
“Trust me, mate: it was meant as a complement,” Peter assured him, smirking as Ian instinctively flinched away from his attacker's animated conversation with Maddie.  
  
“You’re goin’ to have to register that thing with the CAA as a flight hazard, you do know,” Donna teased as Maddie continued to admire the stones winking and flashing in the light.  “Passin’ planes are gonna think you’re a landin’ beacon!”  She reached over and took Maddie’s hand in her own, thinking that the shine of the ring was nothing compared to the light in the other woman's eyes.    
  
“You want to try it on?” Maddie offered, extending her hand towards Donna who immediately demurred.  
  
“Oh, no.  No, no, no, I couldn’t," she murmured, shaking her head and blushing slightly, “It wouldn’t be right.”  
  
“Oh, go on, then,” Maddie encouraged, slipping the ring off her finger and offering it up on her outstretched palm.  “Just to see what it looks like?”  
  
Donna reached for the proffered engagement ring and slowly slipped it on, holding it up for her friend to see.  “It’s just gorgeous,” she murmured, admiring the play of light across the gleaming surface and Maddie noted that Donna made a point of not so much as glancing across the table at Peter.  She looked down at the borrowed promise around her finger and her smile faltered.  “But it looks so much better on you,” Donna said as she carefully handed it back to Madeline.  She swallowed and glanced away before asking brightly, “Have you set the date?” and the two of them were off chattering away about possible arrangements.  
  
The exchange wasn’t lost on the men across the table.  “Soooo, where’s the torch, then?” Ian asked, leaning back slightly to look at the screen set overhead.  “Ah, it’s just outside Stratford.  Won’t be long now.”    
  
Peter nodded noncommittally, gripping his pint and toying with the handle.  He took a long drink and when he lowered the glass, Ian was waiting.  
  
“Out with it.  What’re you thinking?”  he murmured, checking to see that Maddie and Donna were still deep in conversation.  
  
“Ye’ve set the bar a mite high with that bauble,” Peter complained to Ian, watching as Maddie replaced the ring on her finger.  “That’s goin’ to be difficult to match,” he admitted, tugging awkwardly at his ear.  
  
“I wasn’t aware we were competing,” Ian replied mildly, watching Peter watch Donna.  His eyes darted back to meet Ian's and when he ducked his head and cleared his throat, Ian took pity on him. "One of Maddie’s clients is an art jeweler.  I knew she liked her work, so I went round and asked if she had something to suit Maddie.  She was quite reasonable,” Ian told him with a knowing smirk.  “I think it’ll be good advertising for her studio as well, having the director of Urban Scrawl as a customer.  I’m sure she could take care of you when the time comes.”  
  
“That’s custom work,” Peter observed, scratching at his cheek and turning a speculative eye on Ian.  "When did ye— ?”  
  
“Straight after our reunion, the morning after you and Donna met Maddie at St. Stephen’s,” Ian confided, raising his glass to his lips.  “It was all still there between us, almost as if we’d never been apart.”  Peter saw his normally stoic partner relax into a smile as he gazed at his fiancée and somehow, as if she could feel his eyes upon her, Maddie looked up and gave him a dazzling grin.  Realizing Peter was witness to their silent communication, her cheeks flushed slightly and she returned her attention to Donna.    
  
"I almost bungled it, though,” Ian continued when he remembered he’d been speaking.    
  
“Eh, how’s that?” Peter asked, feigning ignorance with a wry smile.  
  
Ian shrugged and took another drink before answering.  "I got the call that the ring was almost ready and I should come by to collect it lunchtime Thursday and all of a sudden, I was petrified.  I hadn’t really talked to Maddie and I wasn’t sure she felt the same as I did and I thought perhaps I was rushing into this.  I mean, we’d only been back together a few weeks, and here I was, about to propose that we spend the rest of our lives together.”  He rubbed his jaw and looked Peter straight in the eye as he considered his next words carefully.  “But then, at dinner on Wednesday, we were chatting away about everything and nothing at all and before I knew it, I’d asked her.”  
  
“From what I hear, you’re lucky she didnae choke to death on a hunk of naan before she had the opportunity to accept,” Peter said with a snicker.  
  
“Oh, so she’s told Donna, then?” Ian mused, rolling his eyes and grimacing.  
  
“With great fanfare,” Peter acknowledged, his voice dropping to conspiratorial levels.  “But I’d say ye did just fine,” he added, clapping Ian on the shoulder, “and, in light of this historic occasion, the next round’s on me.  Seein’ as how the size of this crowd is strainin’ the normally excellent service at this fine establishment, I believe I’ll be headin’ over yonder to place our celebratory order.”  He stood and craned his neck about until he located Mairead behind the mob at the bar.  "Ladies?  Will ye be havin’ more of the same?” he asked as he prepared to wade through the sea of revelers watching the Olympic Torchbearer’s progress through the streets of London on the telly overhead.  
  
“Ta, love,” Donna replied, with a fond wave.  Peter nodded his agreement and turned just in time to catch sight of Nerys framed in the open door of the pub.  She scanned the crowd before hauling her latest date behind, making a beeline straight for the Throne Room.  Halfway there, a knot of boisterous patrons blocked her way, and looking up in exasperation, she found Peter eyeing her warily, standing square between her and her goal.  She hesitated for only a moment before adjusting her course, slipping through the crowd and heading for the patio out back.  
  
“Where are we going?” the tall, gangly young man behind her asked, nearly tripping over his feet as Nerys dragged him along.  “I thought you said you had a place saved near the bar?”  He looked mournfully at the full glasses laid three deep on the counter as they passed.  
  
“It’s too crowded inside, and full of the wrong sorts tonight,” Nerys huffed loud enough for Peter and several other patrons to hear.  “We’ll be better off outside.”  He watched her flounce through the back doors as he signaled to Mairead behind the bar.  She plunked four glasses down before him with a nod and a smile, deftly juggling the onslaught of orders coming from all directions.  
  
“Who’s that, then?” Peter heard a woman ask, pointing at the image of the Olympic torchbearer on screen overhead as he scooped up the glasses and carefully threaded his way back to the table.  
  
“Oh, that there’s Danny Fairweather,” her companion replied with a knowing nod.  “Fittin'.”  Peter paused and glanced up, hoping to see a ticker onscreen explaining what exactly made the choice of Mr. Fairweather so appropriate, but the scene had shifted to an aerial view of the torch’s route.  
  
"The Torch Bearer getting even closer to the Olympic Stadium,” he heard Huw Edwards explain as the camera panned the crowd thronging the streets, "heading down the Strand before turning east along the Embankment.”    
  
Peter gave a mental shrug, shuffling forward the last few steps before setting the drinks in the center of the table and plonking down next to Donna.  “Look,” he said, retrieving his pint and pointing with the glass.  “He’s gettin’ close.  It’s all about to start.”  
  
The pub quieted as conversation died down to murmurs and everyone turned their attention to the historic broadcast. A latecomer dashed in from outside and Donna craned her head around to look.  “Donna?” Peter asked quietly, “What is it?”  
  
“Oh, just looking out for Nerys,” she admitted.  “She said she might drop by.”  
  
“I may have seen her make for the back patio earlier,” Peter admitted reluctantly, fighting to keep both his voice and face neutral.  
  
Donna chewed her lip in consternation, studying Peter’s bland expression and glancing towards the back doors.  She closed her eyes for a moment and forced herself to breathe, in and out, steadily until she inhaled deeply and opened her eyes once more with an apologetic half-smile.  “I’d better go find her, then” she said, heaving herself out of her chair with a sigh. Her eyes darted guiltily to Maddie and Ian, who only had eyes for each other, then back to Peter and he knew the reasons for her hesitation. “This is a special occasion for them, ye know. A celebration for their closest friends, yeah?  And Nerys wasnae on her own," Peter cajoled offering up his most charming smile.  "She knows where ye are. Maybe she just wants some alone time with her new bloke?  Either way, it can wait, aye?"  He cocked his head slightly, waggling his eyebrows as he patted the seat beside him and favored her with a mischievous grin. She rolled her eyes towards the heavens and smacked his shoulder lightly, the retort on her lips dying as her attention was captured by the broadcast again, even as Peter tugged her down to sit beside him.  
  
"We're live on News 24. The opening ceremony of the London Olympics of 2012 is well underway, and people from all over the world are streaming into the stadium right now,” the announcer continued, and Ian grimaced.  
  
“Glad we’re here and not there,” he said, squeezing Maddie's shoulder gently as Peter chuckled his agreement.  “I hate crowds.  I’ll be happy when all this is over and these tourists clear out of London again.”  He smirked at his partner and raised his glass in a toast.    
  
“Hear, hear, mate!” Peter agreed, clinking his pint against Ian’s and falling back into his chair, throwing his free arm around Donna.  “Here’s to the Closin' Ceremonies!  They cannae come soon enough fer— “  He never had the opportunity to finish as a collective gasp rose all around.  
  
"My God!  Er, what's going on here?” a confused voice said from the screen.  Peter glanced around, taking in the scene as every person in the room stared blankly overhead and his eyes darted to Donna’s face when she blindly groped for his hand.  
  
“They were there and now they’re not,” Donna breathed, pointing up.  Peter, Ian and Maddie turned, following her gaze, and Peter briefly wondered why the broadcasters had chosen to show archival footage of the empty stadium.  
  
“Donna, what d’ye-“ he began as she turned to him with a puzzled frown.  
  
“They’re gone, they’re all gone!” she cried, clutching his arm, still pointing above.  "I was lookin’ straight at the screen, that screen there, and - and -  the stadium was overflowin’ with people, yeah?  And then, they were just gone!  There was no light, no screams, no movement, nothin' at all.  I didn’t even blink!” she cried in frustration and before Peter could reply, the announcer broke in again.  
  
"The crowd has vanished!” exclaimed Huw Edwards offscreen.  "Er, they're gone. Everyone has gone. Thousands of people have just- gone.  Right in front of my eyes!  It's impossible,” he babbled as the patrons of the George turned to each other uncertainly.  "Bob, can we join you in the box? Bob? Not you too, Bob?” Mr. Edwards almost whimpered and Peter recognized the confusion bleeding into the bright edge of panic in the broadcaster's voice.  
  
“This wasn’t in the briefing,” Ian said quietly, all traces of merriment erased in a heartbeat.  
  
“This is some sort of trick or illusion or somethin’, right?” Donna blustered, turning to face Peter as he leaned forward in his seat.  “It’s like that show, with those two American magicians, you know?  Penn  & Teller: Fool Us?  They’re pullin’ a stunt, makin’ the crowd disappear as a big spectacle, yeah?”  
  
Despite himself, he glanced at Ian hopefully, but his partner only answered with a grim shake of his head.  Peter scanned the room and actually heard the moment realization hit the rest of the patrons of the George as quiet shock, disbelief and denial gave way to a building tumult of fear, anger, and confusion.  
  
"Over eighty thousand spectators and thirteen thousand athletes," the announcer continued, fumbling for words, anything to avoid the bane of every broadcaster’s existence, the universally-dreaded phenomenon known as 'Dead Air'. "They're gone. All of those people. It's a terrible, terrible turn of events."  
  
“Gone,” Maddie murmured, reeling in her seat.  “How can they all just be gone?” she asked, wide-eyed.  A tear escaped, slipping down her cheek and she wiped it away in surprise.  Everyone turned again to the televisions scattered throughout the pub, the pictures continuing to show the empty stadium even though the sound was drowned out by the babble of confused voices.  “— since the battle of Torchwood,” suddenly slipped through the mounting clamor surrounding them and Peter’s blood ran cold.  He and Ian were on their feet  even before their eyes met.  Ian reached for his mobile, pulling it free just as it began to trill in his pocket.  Peter’s phone was already out and he nodded grimly as he read the Emergency Alert text that had gone out to every officer in London.  
  
Peter turned to Donna and kissed her hard.  “Donna, I'm sorry, but we have t'go,” he said, releasing her and swinging his jacket from the back of the chair, trying not to watch as Ian embraced Maddie.  
  
“I know,” she whispered from a trillion miles away, blinking hard.  “It’s just what we do.”  She reached out blindly and found his hand, following behind as he weaved through the crowd towards the door, the now-forgotten broadcast of the Opening Ceremonies continuing in the background.  
  
“— is still on its way. I suppose it's much more than a torch now, it's a beacon. It's a beacon of hope and fortitude and courage,’ Huw Edwards said calmly, regaining his composure as he slipped back into the role of commentator.  "And it's a beacon of love."  
  
Ian whispered something to Maddie and she bit her lip as she answered with a watery smile, pushing him towards the door just as Peter leaned in for a final kiss.  “I’ll be right back,” he promised, letting his hand linger on her cheek.  He gave her one last, longing look as he started to join his partner.  He made it all of two steps away.  
  
"OI! Think again, Copper,” Donna snorted, grabbing his hand and jerking him off balance.  "You’re not running off into danger, facin’ God only knows what, to play hero and save the world, leavin' me behind like a discarded pair of trainers!” Stunned into silence, Peter could only stand gawping at her like a fish out of water as Ian and Maddie watched warily.  
  
"Policeman, if you think for one instant that I'm stayin' here and leavin' you alone after what happened on Midnight, you're barkin' mad!" she stormed, fist on her hip, wagging a finger under his nose.  "It's my job to look after you!  You get into such terrible trouble without me and if you think I’m goin’ to just let you—“  
  
“Donna,” Peter said firmly when he’d recovered from the initial shock of her tirade, grasping her shoulder and laying a finger against her lips.  
  
"Oh, no, not after The Library!  You're not ditchin' me again," she bristled, jerking her head back with an angry hiss. It was all she could do not to bite his finger out of spite.  
  
"Donna, I’m no ditching’ ye,” he stated carefully.  “This is my job.  Ian and I have to go, to see if we can help.”  
  
“So go!” she retorted impatiently.  “I’m right behind you.”  
  
“No, Donna,” Peter insisted.  "What I need is ye, here, safe.  I need ye here to keep all these people calm.  Ye can do that, aye?  People do terrible things when they’re panicin’ and I need ye to keep them from doin’ that."  
  
Donna crossed her arms, glaring daggers at him, but his air of calm authority left her no room to protest.  
  
“Alright, Policeman, but this isn’t over.  We’re having words, the two of us, when this is done.”  
  
“Aye, we are,” he agreed wistfully, letting his fingertips graze her cheek once more before turning to leave.  As Ian dashed out ahead of him, Peter gave her one last longing look before turning and following him into the night.  
  
Maddie laid a comforting hand on Donna’s shoulder.  “They’ll be all right,” she said soothingly.  “You’ll have to get used to Peter dashing off at all hours.  It’s the lot of a Policeman's wife, even more so when he’s a Detective.”  Donna’s head jerked up at her words and she blinked rapidly in confusion.    
  
“I know that,” she whispered from somewhere far away.  She shook her head as if to clear it.  “I do.  It’s just that…” but her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the forgotten commentator.  
  
"So let's have a look from the helicopter. There we go, the torch bearer running,” he said and both Donna and Maddie glanced up for a moment as he continued.  
  
“He must be getting close,” Donna murmured to herself, reaching for her mobile as it sounded in her pocket.  
  
"Past Dame Kelly Holmes Close,” the voice from the telly continued in the background as she answered her phone.  
  
“Donna, what’s happenin’?” Peter demanded as soon as the call connected.  “Ian is tryin’ to raise the security team at the stadium but no one’s answerin,” he complained, bracing himself against the dashboard with one hand as Ian took a turn at high speed.  “Ye’re my eyes and ears."  
  
Donna opened her mouth to reply when the George erupted around her.  
  
“Donna?  Donna, what’s happenin’?” Peter demanded as the shrieks from the other end of the line drowned out her reply. "Donna, talk to me!”  
  
"Just look at this! Utterly incredibly scenes at the Olympic stadium," Huw Edwards cried in evident relief from the television overhead.  "Eighty thousand athletes and spectators. They disappeared, they've come back!"  
  
"It's the stadium, Peter, everyone's back!" Donna laughed, bobbling the phone as Maddie threw herself into her arms and wrapped her up in a mad embrace. "Just as quick as they left, they're all back!”  She grinned in relief, surveying the crying and hugging crowd and looked up just in time to see the torchbearer as he finally approached the stadium.  "Listen!" she cried, holding her mobile aloft.  
  
"They've returned. They've reappeared. It's quite incredible. Bob, this will certainly-“ Peter heard before the broadcast was drowned out by ecstatic cries of relief.  
  
“WHAT?!?” demanded Peter, pressing his mobile harder to his ear and plugging the opposite ear with his finger.  “They’ve all returned?”  
  
Ian dared to tear his eyes from the road for a moment to hiss, “What’s going on?” even as Peter shushed him impatiently.  
  
“Yes!” insisted Donna, “all of them!  They’re all back in the stadium and….”  
  
She broke off and Peter turned his attention to his partner for a moment.  
  
“They’re back,” he said, shaking his head in confusion even as he heard Donna speak on the other end of the line.    
  
“Oh, bloody hell,” she swore softly.  “What is it now?”  
  
“Donnnnaaaa,” Peter growled impatiently.  
  
“Just keep your knickers on a mo, Policeman,” she admonished.  “I’m tryin’ to figure out what’s happenin’ with the Torch Bearer. “  
  
“... seems to be in a bit of trouble,” came from the broadcaster as a fresh hush fell over the crowd. "We did see a flash of lightning earlier that seemed to strike him...”  
  
“Something’s wrong with him,” Donna said anxiously.  “He’s hurt!  Where are you, Peter?  Are you close?  Can you see him?  Can you help?”  
  
“How far to the stadium?” Peter demanded as Ian darted from lane to lane, cursing under his breath.  
  
“At least six klicks. Damned traffic,” he groused, dodging around a Hackney Carriage and narrowly missing a Fiat crammed full of students on holiday.  “Why couldn’t they have disappeared, too?"  
  
Donna tore her attention away from their conversation just in time to see the runner on the screen crumple to the pavement.  
  
“Oh my God, he just collapsed!” Donna yelped as a collective gasp rose from all around her.  “Peter, you’ve got to help him!  If you’re not there yet, I dunno, call an ambulance or somethin’!”  
  
“We can’t get through to anyone,” Ian complained in answer to her overheard plea as traffic ground to a dead halt, packed tight with nowhere to go.  “And we’re not going anywhere, either.”  Peter raised an eyebrow in inquiry as he reached for the door handle and Ian agreed with a stoical sigh.  “On foot, then,” he said, resigning himself to an evening irrevocably lost to circumstance.  
  
"Does this mean that the Olympic dream is dead?” Huw Edwards despaired and Donna wheeled around in frustration, searching for a way to help when the commentator cried out again.  
  
“There's a mystery man. He's picked up the flame. We've no idea who he is.”  Huw Edwards might not have known the man onscreen, but Donna was fairly certain she did. She gaped in amazement, the nearly-forgotten mobile pressed to her head as she watched a man in a brown suit and plimsolls pick up the torch.    
  
"Oh, you are kidding me....," Donna breathed into her mobile as she stared at the scene unfolding above.  
  
"Donna!  What is it?  What's happenin'?" Peter cried frantically. "Talk to me!"  He heard the roar of the crowd at the George over the line, then the commentator's voice carried to him.  
  
"He's carrying the flame. Yes, he's carrying the flame and no one wants to stop him. It's more than a flame now, Bob."  
  
"Policeman, it's him! He's there, he picked up the torch. He's headed for the stadium," Donna cried frantically, feeling as if all the oxygen in the room had suddenly vanished as the broadcast continued.

"Who?" he ordered. "Who is it?"

"Who the hell do you think it is, Policeman?" Donna snapped irritably. "I looked for that stupid git for two bloody years and there he is, larger than life for the whole damned world to see!"

"Dr. Smith!?!" Peter demanded, searching frantically for transport and finding none. "Donna, just stay there with Maddie and wait fer me," He swung back to Ian with wide, wild eyes, ignoring the frantic cries issuing from his mobile. "It's Dr. Smith. He's carryin' the Olympic Torch." His eyes darkened and he set his jaw determinedly. "I'm goin' after him."  
  
Ian nodded while pointing back at the car and raising his phone. "I'll keep trying on the radio and my mobile.  When I get through, I'll have him detained."  He waved Peter away impatiently as he headed back to their abandoned vehicle.  
  
Peter sprinted across the street, raising his mobile to his ear once more. "I love ye, Donna," he choked out and rang off without waiting for her reply.  
  
"Peter," she whispered sadly, knowing he was already gone.  She dropped her mobile back into her pocket and turned her attention back to the broadcast.  
  
"It's more than heat and light. It's hope, and it's courage, and it’s—”  
  
“IT’S DONNA’S DI,” Mairead shrieked from behind the bar, pointing and jumping up and down, throwing her arms around a surprised Lewis.  “It’s Peter!  He's carrying the Torch!” she cried, bouncing madly and flying around the bar to where Donna stood, rooted in shock.  “How on Earth did he get there so quickly?” she screamed as the George erupted again, this time in delighted triumph.  
  
Donna blinked hard as the spotlight followed the man with the wild shock of hair running up the red carpet to the lower cauldron, his long coat billowing behind him like the cape of some comic book hero as he turned to the crowd with a whoop of joy.  He raised the rescued Torch above his head, grinning madly before turning away to light the gas.  Everyone cheered and several people embraced Donna simultaneously as the fire ran up to the main cauldron, igniting the proper Olympic flame. Donna thought she might have seen a tiny flash shoot up from the cauldron as she was jostled about by the celebrants.  
  
Maddie gave a giddy laugh and swung back to Donna, only to see all the color drain out of her friend’s face.  “Donna, what is it?  What’s wrong?” she asked, shielding Donna from the other patrons with her body.  
  
Donna took two steps towards the screen, transfixed.  “That was never Peter,” she breathed, lifting her hand to the screen in a futile attempt to stop the camera from panning away, swaying slightly as Mairead and Maddie caught her up.  “But I know him.  That man in the stadium?” she continued as tears inexplicably fouled her vision.  "That's Dr. Smith."  



	50. Chapter 50

Saturday, 28 July 2012, 11:28 PM  
  
Donna leaned forward wearily and surveyed the thinning crowd from her customary table, just right of the bar in the George.  She rested her elbows on her knees, exhaling wearily as her head dropped forward on a suddenly-boneless neck.  Rolling her head slowly from shoulder to shoulder before hauling herself upright and propping her forehead in her hand, she closed her eyes momentarily against the faint wave of nausea that washed over her and swore lustily under her breath.  
  
She would have been embarrassed at her weakness had she not felt so bloody terrible. It was just sad, she decided, collapsing as she had in front of Maddie, Mairead and any and all who cared to see, but Donna consoled herself with the fact that, at least this time, she hadn’t lost consciousness.  She wasn't entirely sure that the development was an improvement, however, if her headache was anything to go by. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, mentally playing back the events leading up to her most recent public humiliation.  She clearly remembered clutching Peter’s hand and watching the Opening Ceremonies with dawning horror as the entire stadium full of spectators disappeared before the cameras.  Donna's dread had deepened into full-blown fear when Ian and Peter naturally leapt headlong into the crisis, and her fear blossomed into outraged panic when she realized he actually intended to leave her behind.  She'd known she was being unreasonable even as she argued with him, but it was the look in Peter's eyes as he’d finally turned to leave that haunted her.  She’d hurt him, somehow, when she insisted that he needed her, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said in the heat of the moment.    
  
But then Peter had called, startling her from her trance and, exactly as she’d insisted, he'd needed her. She’d been his link to the unfolding drama and just as quickly as it began, the crisis had passed.  She’d laughed aloud then, with the rest of the George.  She'd permitted herself the momentary luxury of sweet, vicarious relief and had almost allowed herself to hope that Peter and Ian would just turn around, that Peter would come back to her and that their evening of celebration with friends and later, on their own, might yet be salvaged.  
  
And then, Donna made the innocent mistake of glancing back at the screen overhead.  All color and sound melted out of her world as the camera found a lanky, maddeningly-familiar streak of nothing in a long coat.  She stood outside of time for less than an instant, hearing Peter’s frantic voice come to her from miles away, but she was frozen, powerless to respond and when she snapped back to the present after a heartbeat’s absence, she knew it was already too late.  Without meaning to, she’d stepped out of sync with him and Peter was gone.  
  
She numbly watched as a stranger she knew streaked across the screen, carrying with him the torch he’d rescued from the fallen runner. She blinked hard, fighting to stay upright as stuttering, disjointed images of the man flashed before her eyes, full of heat and light, of hope and courage and of pain and loss. She couldn’t escape him.  Every way she turned, she was surrounded by him, engulfed in an aching sense of remembrance that was just out of reach as she watched him leap up the stairs, two at a time, right up beside the Olympic Cauldron.  He stretched out to light the flame and she was flooded with that frustrating sense of recognition as he turned to grin at the crowd, whooping like a madman while the flames filled the night sky behind him.  When Mairead tackled her an instant later, shrieking Peter’s name in secondhand triumph, Donna wondered how anyone could manage to mistake the great big floppy-haired dumbo poncing about onscreen for her sweetly serious DI.  Honestly, there was simply no comparison between the two of —  
  
The next thing she knew, she found herself sitting in a heap on the floor with her head between her knees.  Lewis had appeared from behind the bar to stop her tipping over, instructing her to breathe deeply as Mairead ordered everyone who’d surged forward to get back and mind their own ruddy business.  
  
Donna vaguely remembered the darkness pressing down upon her as she struggled to gulp down great lungfuls of air.  She’d closed her eyes to ward off the cacophony that suddenly rose around her and confused and disoriented, she wondering what all the ruckus she could hear, but not see, was about. It wasn’t until Maddie’s voice cut through the haze of pain in her head that she knew.  
  
“Yes.  Yes, I have a medical emergency,” Maddie had said in a strong, clear voice with only a tiny tremor to betray the stress of the situation.  “It’s my friend, she’s just—“  
  
Donna'd shocked everyone, including herself, when she snatched the phone from Maddie’s grasp, pressing it to her own ear and forcing out brightly, “No, no, no, my friend’s being overcautious.  I’m just lightheaded with excitement and I tripped over my own feet, but I’ll be fine.  No need to send anyone, really, and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry for the inconvenience.“  She rang off and slumped back to the floor, blinking furiously to clear her head.  “No ambulance,” she mumbled as she offered the mobile back to Maddie apologetically.  When Maddie opened her mouth to argue the point, Donna closed her eyes wearily and leaned back against the astonished Lewis.  “I promise, I’ll be fine.  I am fine, Maddie, really.  Lewis, just help me off the floor and give me a mo, yeah?"  
  
That had been exactly six minutes and twenty-eight seconds ago.  Donna reckoned that six minutes and twenty-eight seconds was a perfectly reasonable approximation of an idiomatic moment and set about the business of prying one eye open.  She slowly surveyed the pub, offering up a self-deprecating smile to any anxious face she encountered along the way.  She finally looked round to find Lewis eyeing her warily from the near end of the bar and Maddie, stood halfway to the loo where she’d been waylaid into conversation by a clearly anxious Mairead.  Donna couldn't miss Mairead’s furtive glances her way and she had half a mind to get up and rescue Maddie, to assure Mairead that her nearly-fainting spell had passed and that it was no good fussing over her any further.  Unfortunately for Maddie, at the present time, the other half of Donna's mind wouldn’t allow her to attempt anything quite so foolhardy as standing, so instead she remained stranded in her seat, praying that the pounding in her head would finally cease and this little drama would pass without further incident.  So intent was she on remaining upright and keeping down the contents of her stomach that Donna completely missed the march of approaching footsteps.  
  
“Well, you certainly look like death warmed up,” a voice as grating as fingernails on a blackboard sneered and Donna rolled her head back in her hand, just far enough to make out a face swimming in and out of focus, framed in a wreath of bottle-blonde hair.  Donna blinked slowly and looked at the vague shape beside the pale yellow fury.  She rolled her eyes as it resolved into the image of a young man who, in her considered opinion, looked barely out of his teens.  He shifted uncomfortably on the spot, trying to subtly inch away from the table, all the while remaining tethered in place by Nerys' implacable grip on his hand.  
  
“Oh, thanks for that, Nerys,” Donna finally drawled, pushing away from the table to give herself the needed momentum to swing her hair out of her face and over her shoulder.  She instantly regretted that tiny bit of bravado.  “It’s good to know I can always count on you for support in my hour of need, no matter what.”  Donna closed her eyes again and sat up straight, determined to see Nerys off before she lost what little she’d eaten in spectacular fashion.    
  
“What’s wrong with you?” Nerys continued, her nose wrinkling in disgust.  "Too much to drink in celebration?" she spat contemptuously.  She dropped into the chair opposite Donna without releasing her hold on her date who remained standing awkwardly beside her.  Donna’s eyes flicked up to his nervous face, sizing him up before pointedly ignoring him.  
  
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Donna replied as a weary half-smile of derision worked its way across her face.  “Sorry to spoil your exclusive bit of gossip, Nerys, but I’ve not been drinking tonight.  Our celebrations were cut short, obviously,” she said, indicating the empty seats around her.  She grimaced involuntarily and pressed the heels of her hands to her temples to ease the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears.  
  
“Well, I imagine it’s not advisable in your condition, anyway,” Nerys sniffed under her breath, rolling her shoulders as she settled in for the task at hand.  Sensing he was about to be reluctant witness to an epic clash of titans and proving he had more IQ points than Donna would have credited him with, Nerys’ date seized on the opportunity.  
  
“You, uhm,…you ladies seem to have some…, er, private business to discuss,” he stammered, hooking his free thumb over his shoulder.  “I’ll just wait over there, shall I, Nerys?"  He extricated himself from her clutches with visible effort and retreated to a table just inside the front door.  When the boy was finally out of earshot, Donna spoke once more.  
  
“All right, Nerys, cut it,” Donna said tightly.  "I’m sorry I didn’t go find you tonight and invite you and your date over to congratulate Maddie and Ian on their engagement.  Is that what you want me to say?”  
  
“As if,” Nerys sniffed, waving her hand about haughtily.  “I didn't need you tonight. I've got company of my own.  And you didn’t have to set your pretty little police dog on me to keep me away.”  She leaned forward, enjoying the tiny twitch in Donna's cheek as she laid her hands on the table before her, staring Donna defiantly in the face.  "I couldn’t care less about another wedding, especially when it’s the wedding of your posh new friends,” she stated, biting off each word precisely.  
  
“Yeah?  Well, what the bloody hell are you prattling on about then?”  Donna demanded, her headache forgotten in the wake of her mounting ire.  “And make it quick, yeah?,” she added, taking a dismissive gander at Nerys’ date.  "That boy’s out past his curfew.  Don’t want his mum barging in here havin’ to look for him."  
  
Nerys ignored the jibe with practiced ease, cocking her head to the side and regarding Donna coyly.  “Really, Donna, why all the mystery?  Why didn’t you just say it was him in the first place?” she hissed as she slithered closer, sliding smoothly into the chair Madeline had recently vacated.  "Was it part of some police operation?  I'll just bet it was all strictly undercover,” she sniggered with a knowing leer.  
  
Donna closed her eyes and fought the urge to shake her head in disbelief.  “The only mystery here is why I put up with your gobshite in the first place, Nerys," Donna snarled in frustration.   "Stop playin’ silly games, say what you’ve got to say and get on with it!”  She opened her eyes again to fix Nerys with a baleful glare, the effect of which was only slightly spoiled when she winced at the light.  
  
“Fine,” Nerys snapped back, flipping her blonde tresses angrily and stabbing a finger in Donna’s direction.  "Why didn’t you tell me this Peter Carlisle was really your Dr. Smith all along?  I knew I’d seen him before, but he pulled a Clark Kent with those ridiculous glasses and the tight suits and all.  I know its been nearly four years, but did you honestly think we were all so thick that someone wouldn’t recognize him eventually?"  
  
“What?” Donna roared, her sudden indignation blazing away the remains of her migraine.  "Are you mental?  Until four months ago, I’d never even laid eyes on Peter before in my life!”  Her gaze narrowed dangerously as she replayed Nerys’ accusations in her head.  "And just how exactly do you know anythin’ about Dr. Smith?”  From the corner of her eye, she saw Maddie and Mairead turn to her curiously.  Mairead shifted her stance, preparing to march over to the Throne Room but when her eyes met Donna’s warning glare, she hesitated.  
  
“Oh, come off it, Donna,” Nerys scoffed, rolling her eyes and waving her hand scornfully, oblivious to the silent communications over her head.  "After you pulled your hocus-pocus disappearin’ act, leaving poor Lance at the alter, you came swannin’ in to the reception with him in tow,” she sniffed, disdain dripping from every word.  
  
“You mean **MY** reception?  You think Peter was at...?” Donna blinked, taken aback.  “Nooooooooo,” she breathed, realization dawning.  “You. Are. Kidding. Me.”  She sat back heavily, scouring her spotty memory and came up, wincing, with only a vague memory of Christmas baubles and brown pinstripes.  She cocked her jaw to the side and regarded Nerys through narrowed eyes.  "You mean you actually saw a man that **looked** like Peter- Dr. Smith- at **my** wedding?”  
  
“Only at the reception, and if you must insist it wasn’t him, then yes,” Nerys replied with a truly epic roll of her eyes.  
  
"With me?” Donna persisted, pointing at herself.  
  
“I said so, didn’t I?” Nerys whined.  
  
"You’re sure?” Donna demanded, accepting Nerys’ weary sigh as confirmation.  “I know I was with Dr. Smith later that same day, but Mum and Gramps never mentioned him bein’ there and I don’t rememb —“  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake, give it a rest, Donna," Nerys interrupted indignantly, losing patience with the conversation.  "Is that what you really wanna go with here?  That tired old 'I have amnesia' crap?”  
  
“ _Tired? **Old?**_ ” Donna bellowed, gripping the sides of the table hard enough that her nails left indentions in the varnish.  "Nerys, I swear, if you so much as **THINK** one more word, so help me, I'll smack you so hard, you won’t be able to roll those beady little eyes of yours at anyone ever again cos they’re gonna pop right out of your skull!”  She finished on a roar that echoed across the suddenly silent pub.  
  
Nerys ignored the outburst from habit as she thumbed her mobile to life, smugly flicking away at the screen. “Just met him this April, yeah?  Explain this, then,” she crowed, shoving her phone across the table at Donna.  
  
“You have pictures from my almost-wedding of more than four years ago on your mobile?” Donna said disdainfully, disbelief etched on her features as she snatched the phone up from the table.  As she looked at the photo, she realized the scenario shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did.  After all, Nerys never threw away a flattering photo of herself and, as far as Nerys was concerned, every picture ever taken of her was flattering. Donna glimpsed the image displayed there and heaved an exasperated sigh.  In the middle of a candid photo of all the bridesmaids, Nerys sat, her head cocked to the side, lips parted invitingly, eyes halfway closed in a sultry, come hither pose.  “Oh, a picture of you, flirting with the camera.  Why am I not in the least little bit surprised?” she drawled, rolling her eyes in disgust.  "I fail to see what this…”    
  
Donna paused mid-sentence as she prepared to toss the mobile back to Nerys but something in the background of the photo caught her eye.  She studied the screen, barely making out the image of a familiar form, clad in a tight brown suit before flicking impatiently to the next snapshot.  She squinted a bit at the photo of her dancing with Lance, Veena beside them being dipped by her partner.   In the background, Donna thought she could just barely make out the desolate expression on Dr. Smith’s face as he leaned against the bar, watching from the shadows and the barb Donna had been preparing to fling at Nerys died on her lips.  
  
"I was at home on my computer, looking through my pictures to update my profile,” Nerys gloated, “and I just happened to find those.  I transferred them back to my mobile.”  She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table with a self-satisfied smirk.  “So, Donna, to use your boyfriend’s lingo, in the face of this new evidence, do you care to update your story?"  
  
"I don’t have any pictures from that day,” Donna confessed absently, still staring at the photo.  "Mum and Gramps said the photographer didn’t have any.  His camera was lost, destroyed in the confusion of the attack.  I don’t remember this,” she murmured  her voice wavering as she studied the slightly out of focus figure in the background, more to herself than for Nerys’ benefit.  
  
Nerys continued with a smile the Cheshire cat would envy.  "I told you. I still can't believe you had the nerve to drag him in there- Peter or Dr. Smith or whatever his name is- not after you pulled your little disappearing act to get out of marrying Lance.”  Her voice dropped and she added, almost as an aside, “God only knows why you wanted to leave Lance, considering what you‘ve taken up with now.”  
  
Donna’s hand trembled and she looked back to Nerys in confusion.  Sensing victory, Nerys smiled cruelly, snapping her eyes back to Donna as she took up her verbal assault once more.  “In the confusion after the terrorist attack, the three of you just disappeared and no one ever saw Lance again, dead or alive.  Convenient, that,” Nerys simpered.  “You never were a suspect, were you, in whatever happened to Lance?” she added, drawing lazy patterns on the table with her fingertip.  "The police just took took you at your word when you told them... what?  The DI had uncovered some terrorist plot where you worked and the three of you went in to try and save all of London?  When HC Clement flooded, Lance drowned and his body was swept away?  That you and the good Detective Inspector were lucky to have escaped with your lives?”  
  
“Not one single word of that is true,” Donna breathed, staring in shock across the table at the woman she’d once considered her best friend.  Every phrase had been delivered with a calculated dose of disbelief which mounted with each accusation and now Nerys raised one hand to examine her manicure with exaggerated care.  
  
“And how would you know, Little Miss I-Have-Amnesia?” she shot back airily.  "I guess taking that lanky streak of piss on as your lover had some benefits after all.”  
  
Before Donna could recover from the vehemence of Nerys’ sudden attack, Nerys dropped her hand to the table and leaned in close, her eyes glinting with malevolence.  “You’re nobody, Donna, and we both know it.  Those terrorists at your reception?  They weren’t after you.  They were after him.  So what is he, really, and where’s he been all this time?  You can tell me, Donna.  I know you were already doing the dirty on Lance with him even then, weren’t you, and that’s why the two of you had to get rid of Lance.”  
  
“Excuse me,” Donna barked, reeling back in disbelief.  “What. Did. You. Just. Say?” she demanded, punctuating each word with dramatic circles drawn in thin air.  “Just what, exactly, are you accusin’ -?"  
  
“But Peter…Dr. Smith… whatever,” Nerys went on theatrically, drawing ever closer to the vicious bombshell she’d been waiting months to deliver, “he got you up the duff, didn’t he?  Mooky figured you had a bun in the oven and there was no way you could pass the baby off as Lance's.  That’s why you were so keen on leaving Lance after you'd hounded him into marryin' you in the first place.  Peter, he shows up at your wedding and it’s all "Goodbye" to poor Lance'!  You left him at the alter, but you bein’ you, you had to make some bloody big scene about it where you got to play the victim.”  
  
“You are barking mad, Nerys,” Donna marveled, shaking her head as she sat back heavily in her seat.  “You’ve officially gone off and lost it. You’ve gone completely bonkers.  You need help, psychiatric help,” she insisted angrily. “Now why don’t you just sling your flamin’ hook and leave me be?”  
  
“But gettin’ pregnant didn’t work out, did it?” Nerys mocked, smiling disparagingly.  "Because when he found out, Peter legged it.  So you ‘lost’ his baby, isn’t that right?  Is that why you disappeared for a year?"  
  
"I’m giving you one chance, Nerys.  Just one,” Donna warned, her tone suddenly flat and strangely dispassionate.  “Leave now.  I’ll assume you were drunk, or joking, albeit in extremely poor taste."  
  
"Then you went and won the lottery, and look who came traipsing back to you now that you have money!” Nerys crowed.  "And this time, he’s got you right where he wants you.  Look at you: you’re preggers again, aren’t you?  That’s what all these 'fainting spells' are about.  You’d best be careful with this one if you want to keep it and keep Peter- a woman of your age and all,” Nerys added, affecting a coy smile.  
  
"You have officially gone too far,” Donna stated.  “Nerys, we’re done here.  We’re through.  Get out.”  
  
“This is a public house, I can be here if I want to,” Nerys shrugged casually.  “Tell me I’m wrong, Donna.  Lie and tell me I’m wrong.  Or should I just text those pictures to Peter now?  If it’s him, he might scarper again, knowing that he’s been sussed.  If it’s not him, how is he goin’ to respond, findin’ out he’s a stand-in for another man?"  
  
Donna ignored her, standing and stepping around the table.  "Peter was right about you.  You can’t be happy unless you make the lives of everyone around you a right old misery,” she stated quietly.  “He told me-"  
  
“You think your precious little Peter doesn’t like me, is that what he told you?  That’s not what his eyes say when you’re not lookin',” Nerys preened, tugging her shirt low and tight across her breasts.  “You just wait.  Wait til you blow up like a Zeppelin and we’ll see what happens then.  Best keep him on a tight leash, Donna.  Peter will-“  
  
"You’re not fit to even say his name,” Donna cut her off ruthlessly.  "You're a cancer, Nerys, a disease, bent on destroying everythin' good in my life.”  She leaned in close enough to smell the Glacier Mint on her breath.  "We’re done.  Get out of my life, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of it.”   Donna stood straight, crossing her arms and fixing Nerys with a stare cold enough to cause freezer burn.  “Leave, now,” she added, indicating the door with a lift of her eyebrows.  
  
“The George doesn't belong to you!” Nerys exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.  “You don’t own it.  You don’t control me and you can't toss me out!"  
  
"No, but I can," Lewis said, appearing behind her.  "Get out of my pub.”  
  
The room behind him exploded in jeers and catcalls and Donna blinked.  Their voices may not have carried, but there was no mistaking their body language, and she suddenly realized their very private conversation had gone terribly public.  
  
Nerys must have come to the very same conclusion because she seized her bag and threw it over her shoulder, jerking her arm away as Lewis made to hustle her towards the door.  "As if a man who looks like that would ever just choose someone like you,” Nerys spat contemptuously before turning on her heel and snatching up her bemused escort as she stalked out of the pub.  
  
Stunned silence rang out in Nerys' wake as Donna plopped gracelessly into her seat, trying to process what had just happened.  The quiet that had descended upon the George stretched uncomfortably, almost morphing into awkwardness until Lewis announced, loud enough for all to hear, “Oh, Donna, you have no idea how much I've always wanted to say that.” At that, the spell was broken and the George descended once more into a dull, cacophonous roar, Mairead and Madeline hurrying back to her side.  As her friends unleashed a barrage of questions, Donna looked up to find Lewis, still smiling at her and making a show of dusting off his hands as he headed back behind the bar.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Carlisle ducked his head momentarily, briefly rubbing at the bridge of his nose before glancing at the closed door opposite where he stood for the fourteenth time.  He sniffed, scrunching up his face in an impatient grimace and rubbed the back of his neck, then looked up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to the monitor on the desk, lest his inattention and impatience was noticed. 

**Saturday, 28 July 2012, 12:43 AM**

 

Peter Carlisle ducked his head momentarily, briefly rubbing at the bridge of his nose before glancing at the closed door opposite where he stood for the fourteenth time.  He sniffed, scrunching up his face in an impatient grimace and rubbed the back of his neck, then looked up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to the monitor on the desk, lest his inattention and impatience was noticed. 

“Detain that man!” roared his voice on the audio recording, in sync with the now-ubiquitous television footage replaying the unknown torch bearer ascending the stairs to the Olympic cauldron.  “Do it now, damn ye!” 

“Ye- yes, Detective Inspector,” came the stammered reply, “but why?" 

Peter forced himself to watch, grinding his teeth in frustration and subtly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

"Why?  WHY?  Does that man look anythin’ like a bloody Olympic torch bearer to ye?” Peter’s voice snapped irritably.

"No, sir, he doesn’t,” came the answering squeak.  “He looks like you, Detective Inspector!  I recognized you…him…before you…he…even reached for his…your badge!  Is…the man a suspect in a crime?"

“Let me think— an entire stadium of people disappear, then reappear, with no explanation?” his voice responded with exaggerated, counterfeit patience.  "Since a magic show is no a part of the scheduled festivities an' since we can both agree that the man carryin' the torch bears  **absolutely**  no resemblance to Mr. Fairweather, the athlete scheduled to do so, did it never occur to ye that the man not sanctioned to be there— but is —   **might** , just  **POSSIBLY** , be involved in the orchestration of the aforementioned disappearances?!?”

“Sir?  People disappearing?  I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you mean.  My partner and I have been here on duty the entire time and—"

“Of course ye didnae notice, Putnam,” Peter bellowed over the mobile recording, “Ye were one of the disappeared, ye fuc-" 

Forensic Specialist Hamish Chapman hastily leaned over and paused the playback, freezing the motion onscreen and halting Peter Carlisle’s retort in what he knew to be mid-scathing rant.  He glanced up apprehensively at the man sat behind the desk, stern and silent with his fingers steepled before him, then returned his attention to his partner who resumed the emergency briefing.  

“As you can see, Detective Chief Inspector,” Alec Turner explained, his tone precise and professional despite the high tensions and late hour, "using the time stamp in both the CCTV footage and the televised broadcast, when synchronized with the routine police recording of DI Carlisle’s emergency call, the evidence clearly supports his assertion that the person who lit the Olympic Cauldron was an impostor, posing as him.”  He glanced over his shoulder to the man in question, now stood at ease in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back with only a slight tightness about his jaw to betray his contempt for the proceedings.  

Peter Carlisle had spent the last two hours attempting to explain what he knew and to justify his subsequent actions, but it wasn’t until the two Forensic Techs had unexpectedly presented themselves at the door to the Detective Chief Inspector’s office that he managed to reign in his temper.  Now he stood silently, letting the evidence speak for him while his emotions roiled and churned within, alternating between furious restlessness and desperate anxiety.  The indignant adrenaline that had fueled the mad pursuit of his quarry to the Olympic stadium and beyond had long since burned away, and Peter was keenly aware that it had been hours since he’d spoken to the woman he’d left at the door of the George, trembling with what he hoped was simple fury.

Peter heard footsteps in the corridor and his eyes automatically flicked to the doorway.  He visibly relaxed when Ian entered the room, nodding once in answer to Peter's unvoiced question before silently closing the door behind him.  Alec looked between the two men, drawing his own conclusions as to the content of their silent communication before smoothly continuing his presentation.  "Detective Inspector Carlisle was simply attempting to apprehend a key witness, if not a likely suspect, in the confusion following the Opening Ceremonies disappearances,” he concluded reasonably.

Detective Chief Inspector Reith stared openly at Peter for a long moment before addressing Alec once more.  “This man DI Carlisle was pursuing,” he said sharply.  “What became of him?”

Alec nodded to Hamish who advanced the recording to a prearranged spot before pressing play.  “It seems that the spectators and athletes all claim they had no idea they’d disappeared, leading to some quite natural confusion when they rematerialized,” Alec deadpanned.  "According to everyone at the stadium, nothing had happened, yet in the broadcast booth, Huw Edwards was going on as if they’d all returned from the grave. Every mobile in the place was going off at once with frantic calls from friends and relatives.  And, as you know,” Alec said, pointing to the screen,” the suspect identified himself as DI Carlisle to effect his escape from the Olympic stadium.”  On screen, Peter’s double flashed a wallet at the officers guarding the exit. His step faltered as one of the policemen addressed him and he paused, glancing at his own ID before breaking out in a toothy grin, waving and bounding off into the night.  "Add to that the suspect’s uncanny resemblance to the DI,”  he said with a discreet glance at Peter, ”and you can understand why the Uniforms in the venue were a bit slow to react.”

DCI Reith raised one incredulous eyebrow at that but said nothing, letting his silence speak volumes.  Alec cleared his throat but displayed no other sign of discomfort as he continued. 

“By the time it was realized that they should have been pursuing the suspect, he'd melted away into the crowd.  CCTV inside the stadium was able to follow him until he lost himself in the confusion, here,” he explained as Hamish paused the playback.  “However, we’re reasonably sure that this,” Alec indicated a smaller video feed synchronized with the larger picture, "is him.”   

Onscreen, a tall, thin figure ambled away from the stadium, hands stuck deep in his pockets as he turned this way and that, taking in the spectacle of life surrounding him.  “Specialist Chapman did a quick search of the available footage of the surrounding area and was able to trace his path.  Due to his unseasonable attire, he was quite easy to track when not lost in a crowd.”  As if on cue, the suspect disappeared from the frame and the video quickly cut to another image of the same man, taken at a different angle from farther along the parade route. He sauntered along on his way, passing close enough to the camera for Peter to make out the slightly deranged look of delight on what could easily have been his own face.  He shifted his stance, inhaling deeply as he wrestled down the desire to bolt from the office and find Donna immediately. 

"He managed to exit the Olympic Stadium unchallenged, then made his way back to the area where Mr. Fairweather first stumbled,” Hamish added absently, still staring at the monitors as he flicked a switch.  The feed shifted to an oblique view of a quiet neighborhood along the route the torchbearer had taken, just as two people strode into view.  

Peter watched his fetch amble down a suburban street, linked arm in arm with what appeared to be a very young blonde woman.  His finger twitched in her direction as he shot an inquiring glance at his partner and Ian nodded once while the DCI’s attention was on screen.  Peter looked back just in time to see the onscreen pair disappear between two portable toilets stationed along the torchbearer’s route.  

“Unfortunately,” Hamish continued, sighing deeply and folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “ **that**  is where we lost the suspect and his companion. The angle of the camera only allowed us to track them to that spot and subsequent searches of all the footage from surrounding cameras has yielded nothing,” he shook his head bemusedly, “They simply disappeared into thin air.” 

Detective Chief Inspector Reith’s expression twisted into a glower at his words.  “With all the manpower and technology at our disposal, and you tell me that the suspect ‘just disappeared into thin air’?” he scoffed.  The telephone on his desk began to chime softly, but the sound was lost in his mounting ire.  “You expect me to believe that it’s simply a stunning coincidence that your twin,” he said with a disparaging wave of his hand at Peter, "shows up and apparently has the power to pop in and out of a sticky situation, at will, like some character from Harry bloody Potter?”  DCI Reith stalked around his desk and planted himself in front of Peter and Ian.  ”When in reality, it’s much more probable that he’s been able to exploit the incompetence of— “  His tirade was cut mercifully short by the unexpected sound of his office door swinging open.  

“DCI Reith?” a quiet but confident voice called from the doorway.  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but you have a call,” explained a compact, tidy brunette Peter judged to be on the backside of middle-age.  

“Can’t it wait, Monica?” the DCI huffed impatiently earning himself a slightly indulgent smirk from his assistant. 

"No, sir, I'm afraid it can't," she continued, completely unperturbed by his mood. “I tried to put him off, sir, but he’s insistent.   **He**  says you’ll want to hear this.”  Peter noticed the slight stress the DCI’s assistant placed upon the pronoun, and he filed the detail away for later consideration.

Reith gave a reluctant nod before snatching up the receiver up with a growl.  "What is it, Man?  What’s so damned important that you have to speak to me now?  You must have seen what happened at the Opening Ceremonies, so you know we have a situation here.  The bloody video has over 85,000 views on YouTube already, at last count,” he barked, exasperation evident in his tone, but as he listened, his expression shifted minutely, from intense irritation to wary interest.   

"You what?" he demanded, eyes flicking between Peter, Ian, and Alec before focusing his attention back on the call.   "And you're sure of this?  Absolutely positive?" he blurted out impatiently, turning away absently to gaze out the eastern window. “We’ve been over this, time and again.  Just because strange things have happened in the past where he was involved, it doesn't necessarily stand to reason that it’s his doing—"

Ian chanced a sideways glance at his partner before mouthing silently ' _He?_ ' and Peter offered a bemused shrug in return.

“Yes.  Yes, they did. You knew they would," the DCI huffed."  He listened intently, rubbing his forehead and screwing his eyes shut. "Fine. Yes. All right, Man, all right.  Point taken.  I’ll do what I can,” Reith muttered as he rang off.  He abruptly swung back around and dropped heavily into his chair.  Crossing his arms over his chest and frowning, he looked between the frozen picture onscreen and the spitting image standing before him.  “Play it again, the footage of this Dr. Smith,” he finally said to Hamish, who did as requested even as he surreptitiously lowered the audio.

"What about the girl?  Are there any leads there?”  DCI Reith demanded suddenly.  Peter exchanged a curious glance with Ian as Alec answered smoothly.  

“Ah, yes,” he said, prompting Hamish to bring up the smiling image of a young woman in her late teens.  “She’s not been positively identified, but preliminary results using Aurora suggest that she might be one Rose Tyler,” Ian supplied, looking over to Ian and Peter.  "She’s listed as missing and presumed dead in the aftermath of the Battle of Torchwood.”  Peter’s gaze whipped up to Alec even as Ian laid a warning hand on his shoulder.

“Torchwood, eh?” Reith muttered darkly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Man was right.  The plot thickens.”  Peter, Ian and Alec exchanged furtive glances as Reith seemed lost in thought.  He exhaled heavily, staring off into space just long enough to ratchet up the already-tense atmosphere of the room before suddenly focusing his attention on the men before him.  

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said stiffly.  "That will be all.”  

“Yes, sir,” Ian replied, nodding to Peter and heading for the door with a tiny, triumphant quirk of his lip which only lasted until the DCI added, “Except you, DI Carlise.  I’d like a word.”  Peter met Ian’s suddenly-troubled gaze with an eloquent twitch of an eyebrow as he stepped back before Reith’s desk.  “I’ll just wait for you downstairs, then,” Ian said quietly, hooking his thumb over his shoulder before making his exit.  Alec stood and held the door as he waited for Hamish to collect the equipment they’d brought for their presentation.  

Hamish glanced between Peter and Alec for confirmation as he leaned over to shut down the video feed.  "Leave it, if you please,” Reith said quietly.  Hamish reluctantly withdrew, Alec closing the door behind them, leaving Peter alone, standing resolutely before the DCI’s desk.

The DCI reached over and replayed the surveillance video, one eyebrow quirking up as his eyes darted between the screen and the man still standing stiffly at attention before him.  “Uncanny,” Reith finally said.  "The two of you could pass for brothers, if not twins. Just add a flash cut and a coat and you’re him.”

Peter took the comment as permission to relax and sniffed, rubbing at his nose. He glared uncomfortably at the man onscreen grinning like a loon before looking hurriedly away.  He’d never publicly concede the point, but even he had to admit that the resemblance was striking.

Reith sat back, regarding Peter in interminable silence over steepled hands.  Peter fought to remain unmoving and dispassionate, determined to wait him out.  “I’m told you may have a personal interest in this case, DI Carlisle,” Reith finally commented, "beyond the obvious impertinence of the impersonation, of course."

Peter remained silent, his face inscrutable as his mind whirled through exactly what Reith was likely to know.  Between their spectacularly public spat in the Interrogation rooms and their visits to St. Stephens, his relationship with Donna was far from secret in the halls and at the water coolers of the Met, yet the particulars of their meeting were not exactly public knowledge.  Even so, it was no stretch of the imagination to assume that any casually-interested observer might have drawn their own conclusions when considering the circumstantial evidence surrounding them both.  Just as Peter decided that continued silence on the particulars of the matter was his wisest choice, Reith spoke again.   

"Furthermore, judging from the swiftness of the Forensics team's response to the situation, despite the lack of a formal request for services, I’m fairly certain that they are aware of the personal nature of your interest in the suspect,” he probed, gesturing at the screen.  As his superior officer eyed him with interest, Peter was even more convinced that keeping shtum was in the best interests of everyone involved.  

Reith regarded him shrewdly, taking note of his stiff bearing, and prodded Peter once more.  "If this is true, you should be aware that you and your associates tread upon dangerous ground, DI.”

Peter scowled slightly as he finally answered.  “Thank ye for yer concern, DCI Reith,” he replied, struggling to maintain an impassive facade.  “I’ll be cautious in my continued investigations into the matter.”

“I suspected as much,” Reith replied, mirroring his tone.  “Detective Inspector, you will not take the law into your own hands and go off like some vigilante. There will be no use of department resources for personal matters. You will do nothing to publicly call the integrity of this office into dispute. Are we clear?"

"As crystal, sir," Peter replied through gritted teeth. 

"That may be the way of things in Blackpool,” Reith intoned sharply  "but you're in London now.” 

“Aye, sir,” Peter snapped irritably.  “May I go, sir?  It’s late and my partner is waitin’ fer me."

DCI Reith considered the man before him, pursing his lips before speaking again.  “Carlisle, though Torchwood is ostensibly gone, the name still carries weight, even now.  The mere mention of it has shut down many an investigation, including this one, I’m afraid.”  

“What?!?” Peter spluttered, erupting to life at his words.  “Ye cannae—“ 

"Before your twin left the Olympic Stadium, before he’d even pulled his false credentials from his coat pocket,” Reith interrupted, riding roughshod over Peter’s rising complaints, "I received my orders from the highest level.  They are absolute and unequivocal.”  He fixed Peter with an ominous stare.  "We are to cease any and all investigations into this matter and any organizations or persons involved, DI Carlisle, effective immediately.” 

“A whole bloody stadium disappeared, then suddenly reappeared on a live, internationally-televised broadcast and we’re to pretend it didnae happen!" Peter cried in outrage.  "Does no one think that, perhaps,  **just**   **perhaps** , SOMEONE,  **SOMEWHERE**  in the world, may have taken notice?”  He paced in front of the DCI’s desk like a caged tiger, stabbing the air with his hand.  "What do we do when uncomfortable questions arise, as they invariably will?  When the reporters come to hound us for comments, how are we to go about the business of pretendin’ this never occurred?” 

“It was all special effects, DI Carlisle, a planned part of the spectacle, kept secret from all but those involved in the illusion in order to preserve the surprise.  A metaphor for the power of the games to unite us all, to draw us together,” Reith pronounced airily, observing Peter as he prowled around the office.  “At least that’s the story that will be given out to the Press,” Reith added, almost as an afterthought.

“What, and we’re expected simply to go along with the charade, aye? To lie wholesale, upon command, integrity be damned?” Peter snarled as he slammed his hands down on the edge of Reith’s desk.  "To deny a crime, committed before millions of witnesses the world over?  And yer keepers honestly believe the public will buy this load of steamin’ horse shite?”

“Yes.  Yes, they do,” Reith replied, stubbornly refusing to be affected by DI Carlisle’s obvious indignation.  “And if past experience is anything to go by, the public will.  It’s standard practice- obscure the truth to maintain the public order.” 

“Oh, aye, there's the Met’s commitment to ' _Total policing_!’ ” Peter spat, launching himself off Reith's desk, flinging his hands above his head as he resumed stalking back and forth, seething with rage.  “How bloody appropriate!  We’re expected to contravene our personal as well as our professional code of ethics?  Ay no?  Because now, the true meaning of  _Making London safe for all the people we serve_  becomes glaringly obvious!   It was never the general public we serve, now, was it?!”  Peter came to an abrupt halt, leaning over Reith’s desk once more.  "Noooo,” he drawled, shaking his head in appalled realization.  “No, no, no, it was never the people of London we serve, not when Torchwood has an interest in something clearly outside the norm."  He halted before the window, leaning against the frame and scowling out at the nearly empty streets below.  "How this world is given to lying,” he muttered in disgust.

“Do you think this is the first time something like this has happened, DI Carlisle?” Reith declared tightly.  He blinked, turning suddenly old, tired eyes on Peter.  "That this is the first time this office has received an order, explicitly directing us to ignore the evidence of our senses?  To be forced to lie in order to postpone the politicians having to deal with the challenge of exopolitics because they believe the public isn’t ready to accept the reality of life beyond our planet, of beings with otherworldly powers at their command?”  Reith said and Peter took note of the rise in his DCI’s voice as the other man’s suppressed exasperation began to boil over his calm exterior.

“Are ye suggestin’ this was the work of ‘Little Green Men’?” Peter scoffed, turning and crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the windowsill.

“That’s a rather xenophobic oversimplification of the matter and you’re no simpleton, DI,” Reith replied hotly.   

Peter glared back almost defiantly as inside he fought to reconcile his hostile reaction to the DCI’s suggestion.  He’d long ago accepted that Donna had been the assistant to someone set on investigating extraterrestrials.  Why, then, was it so difficult to accept that what they had been investigating might actually exist?  He knew Donna suffered no fools, so it wasn’t likely she’d put up with that sort of nonsense, after all.  Not without proof.  

"Would you care for me to enumerate just the instances that I’ve personally had to manage at the behest of some bureaucrat intent on obfuscation rather than clarifying the real issue?” Reith offered, interrupting Peter's mental debate.  "All the times this office has been complicit in ignoring the cover-up of an especially-visible UNIT operation, or worse, Torchwood’s involvement in their latest high-profile debacle?"

“It might do for a start,” Peter snapped petulantly, pushing away from the wall to face his superior. 

“Where  **to**  start?  The Battle of Canary Wharf, the Christmas Star episode, the draining of the Thames?  My time here has been littered with these incidents,” Reith admitted bitterly, taking in the subtle shift in the DI’s attitude at the revelation.  

“Ye know the truth of what happened that night, then, no?” Peter blurted out anxiously.  "Christmas Eve of 2007?" 

Reith’s brows knitted together as he considered his next words.  “Torchwood,” he pronounced, as if that explained everything.  "As a junior officer, I’d heard rumors.  Everyone had, for years.  Torchwood’s always been the bogeyman of law enforcement, but before being promoted, I never really believed all the cautionary tales.”  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows against the desk.  "I was wrong, but it took seeing it for myself before I believed.  The Battle of Canary Wharf and the subsequent cover-up in the press that followed. That Christmas Star business, explained away as a freak electrical storm, despite the fact that Harold Saxon had the bloody military shooting at the thing from the streets.  And in the middle of it all, Torchwood was there, before, during or after.  Sometimes all three.”  He shook his head in bitter recollection.  "But my first personal brush with them was when the alien spacecraft crashed into the Clock Tower, early in 2006.”

“Spacecraft?” Peter interrupted, curious despite himself.  He was back at the desk in two long strides.  “No, the Clock Tower…..Wasnae that an attack on MI6 that went awry?” he demanded, frowning down at Reith.   “I know the media was filled with crazed speculation soon after it happened, but it was proved to be the beginnin’ of a terrorist attack.  An inexperienced pilot that lost control of the aircraft short of his intended target.  All of London was on high alert after that, but it didnae prevent his accomplices from bombin' Downing Street and assassinatin’ —”

“That’s the explanation my predecessor was presented with and subsequently forced to provide to the press.  Before my time- I wasn’t directly involved,” Reith confessed wearily, shaking his head.  His eyes drifted out of focus for a moment before he snapped his gaze back to Peter. “Boxing Day, the next year, though: that was different.”  He swallowed, looking away awkwardly before continuing. “My partner and I were called out on a murder investigation.  Well, probable murder, rather a gruesome find, actually,” he added, almost in an aside.  "It was the day after the attempted alien invasion and the Christmas mass panic, where all those people got up on the rooftops.”  

“Are ye tryin’ to tell me that was real as well?” Peter blurted out, remembering waking late on Christmas morning and not seeing the news until Natalie turned on the Queen’s broadcast later in the evening.  “Yer tellin’ me the flash-mob on Christmas day was part of an actual alien invasion?  No some slick 'War o' the Worlds' publicity stunt, designed to encourage global unity?”  

“Oh, no,” Reith’s words fairly oozed with sarcasm.  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, regarding Peter curiously.  “Did you really believe it was all an internet-organized event, designed to highlight how petty our differences are in the face of shared world-wide calamity, to emphasize how close we are to going over the metaphorical edge unless we all pull together and work for the common good?”  

Peter felt a bit stupid in the face of Reith’s incredulous expression but went on just the same.  "Even the Royal Family was up on top of Sandringham House, fer God’s sake!” he protested.  When the DCI's withering gaze turned to pity, Peter demanded, “Well, what was it, then?”

Reith scratched at his nose and continued as if Peter had never spoken.  “It’s Boxing Day.  We get a report of a severed hand, found lying in the middle of the London Wetland Center.  My partner and I think, all things considered, that it’s most probably the beginning of a murder investigation.”  Reith paused, his expression turning sour.  "We were sorely mistaken.”  He stared past Peter into the past before shifting his gaze back to the present.  He seemed to refocus on Peter for a moment, pursing his lips and nodding before continuing.  "Just after we secured the crime scene, this Torchwood team swept in and announced they were taking possession of the evidence.”

“Of a severed hand?” Peter said incredulously, voice rising in both volume and pitch.  “What could they possibly want with that?  I thought Torchwood’s area of expertise was a bit more exotic."  

“My point at the time, exactly,” Reith muttered drily.  "The woman in charge, she kept going on and on about how their mandate superseded our authority. My partner and I tried to reason with her, pointing out the obvious conclusion, that finding a human hand on its own meant there was most probably a human body nearby, at best someone with a serious injury and at worst a murder victim. Whatever the case, the scene was clearly that of a crime over which she couldn’t possibly hold jurisdiction, but that didn't stop her.  We received a call over the radio and that was that.  Case closed."   He sat quietly for a moment, lost in remembrance.  "My partner was incensed. He stormed off, leaving me to to explain the situation to the ERU unit.  He received an official reprimand as a result.  Man was never the same after.”

Reith paused again before inhaling deeply and looking away with a frown.  “That was the beginning of my unwilling involvement with Torchwood, and the end of my partner’s career advancement.”

“What d’ye mean?” Peter asked, shifting into the chair sat before the DCI’s desk.  Peter’s pulse picked up as his mind whirled.  Given his superior officer's first-hand experience of Torchwood and their operations, he knew he was on the verge of a discovery, that something crucial was staring him in the face and he only had to remain alert to see it.  “Yer partner- what happened to him?” 

“I thought it would all blow over after a time,” Reith went on as if in a trance.  “But the next year, right after Christmas, he was brought in to investigate a Missing Person’s case brought by the family of the victim.  It centered around HC Clements, as the missing man was one of their employees.  He disappeared during the Christmas Star incident, was presumed dead, and once again, just as he began to make some headway, the MET was shut out.  I’d been promoted by then, but the Bennet case was the last straw for my partner.  He got a bit too close once he discovered that HC Clements was a front, actually owned by Torchwood."

 “HC Clements?” Peter breathed, eyes widening with sudden understanding. “Bennet?"

“Man was fortunate, really,” Reith mused with a sigh.  "Torchwood usually hid by sectioned any poor sod who had the temerity to question them, but they were in disarray after Canary Wharf and were all but decimated following HC Clements.  Even so- I’m here now, and Man's still in homicide."

“Man…Manfred Cave was your partner,” Peter stated as the pieces fell into place.  “Detective Cave was in charge of the investigation into the disappearance of Lance Bennet."

“Yes, he was.  You see, DI, I followed orders.  I kept quiet.  I let it go,” Reith admitted, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  He stared off into the middle distance, lost in recollection.  “But not Man,” he added darkly.  "He never would back down, couldn’t let things lie.  So after we’d been warned off the case and our evidence confiscated, he pestered the ERU for everything they had, but virtually every shred of evidence had been confiscated.  The only things left were a few digital snapshots one of the technicians took at the scene.”

“A few?” Peter interrupted, thinking of the slew of digital images he had at his disposal on the Morgan murder alone.

Reith nodded in understanding.  "Remember, it was still early days for digital photography in law enforcement and the Forensics man, he’d forgotten to charge the battery,” he explained.  "He was back at the van getting another when Torchwood started gathering up all the cameras.  He saw what was happening, took a few quick snaps of the situation and switched out the memory card before they got to him."  

“What happened to them, the pictures he took?” Peter persisted.  

“Oh, the digital files became corrupted after they were placed on the department server.  It was never determined if the cause was hardware failure or user error,” Reith mused with an absent wave of his hand.  He fell silent then and Peter watched as Reith's memories played out in the expressions that flitted across the other man’s face.  “ 'If it’s alien, it’s ours’,” he suddenly mimicked, swallowing hard and smiling without a hint of humour.  “The only good thing about the whole debacle was when that damned American blew in and charmed his way past the Torchwood team.” 

“American?” Peter demanded, out of his seat and leaning across the desk before he was even aware of it.  “What American?”  If Reith found his behavior odd, it didn’t show on his face. 

"Before that infernal woman realized what he was up to, this American, looking like he’d just stepped out of one of those old newsreels from the War, he scooped up the hand from right under her nose, placed it in some kind of tank and just waltzed away."  DCI Reith's smile of remembrance was dark and devoid of humor.  "The look on her face when she realized he’d gone was priceless.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Saturday, 28 July 2012, 3:35 AM**  
  
"Nice," Ian breathed in appreciation as Peter pressed his thumb to the print reader then punched in his passcode on the keypad beside the door. "Though getting in after a night out might prove to be a challenge."  
  
"Ye can use a key, but the system still requires a thumbprint," Peter replied tersely.  He waited for the audible snick of the disengaging lock before he dragged his thumb down the scanner, obliterating any print that might have been left behind as he pushed open the door and quickly scanned the room.  He paused on the threshold, surprised to see every light in Donna’s flat blazing, despite the late hour.  The DVD player was on and Peter was momentarily taken aback as onscreen, Father Ted patiently attempted to explain the correlation of relative distance and apparent size to an obviously confused Father Dougal. He spotted Donna's slightly tousled titan mane peeking up over the far end of the sofa and was relieved to find her wrapped up in a blanket where she could watch the door, had she still been awake.  
  
"She just dropped off a few minutes ago,” a feminine voice made rough with lack of sleep said quietly off to his right and Peter jerked around to see Maddie leaning back against the kitchen counter, a blanket from the couch wrapped around her shoulders and a fresh mug of tea in her hand.  Ian stepped around Peter and into the kitchen to take a visibly exhausted Maddie into his arms.  She let loose a ragged sigh, snuggling deeper into his embrace before she dragged her eyes open again and fixed them on Peter.  “She was determined to wait up for you."  
  
“Maddie, how is she?” Peter whispered urgently, not waiting for Ian to loosen his hold on her.  "What happened after we left?"  
  
Maddie blinked and set her tea on the counter, turning in Ian’s arms to face Peter.  “The George was going wild when the torch appeared and even more so when they got a good look at the torchbearer,” she explained, shifting uncomfortably before looking up to meet his eyes.  “That man really did resemble you, you know, and everyone knew you’d dashed out for the stadium, and well, it was a natural assumption….” Maddie trailed off, her face scrunched up in recollection as Peter nodded in reluctant agreement.  
  
"Go on," he urged and Maddie blinked, forcing herself back to the present.  
  
“Anyway, Mairead hugged Donna, thinking it was you with the torch but Donna?  She set Mairead straight in an instant.  She insisted the torchbearer wasn’t you, but Dr. Smith and then she dropped like a stone- but only for a moment,” Maddie tacked on hastily in response to Peter’s horrified expression. "I tried to call for the paramedics, but Donna was having none of that,” she explained, craning her head to look behind him to the couch where her friend was beginning to stir.  She dropped her voice to a near whisper before continuing.   "She snatched my phone right out of my hand and told the operator it was a false alarm."  
  
“Aye?” Peter murmured wearily, sniffing and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Count yerself lucky.   Her reaction was a bit more vehement the time I called the ambulance service after she passed out."  
  
Maddie frowned as she considered his words.  “Peter, Donna didn’t really pass out. She never lost consciousness,” she explained.  "It was more like she was struck with a sudden headache, or, or a migraine.  It didn’t last long, but she was…I don’t know….left drained by the experience?”  She nodded decisively, pursing her lips as she considered her description.  "Yes. That’s it.  She was drained,” she declared.  It was like when you go to sleep, but you either wake too soon or sleep too long. You know how you wake, feeling groggy and disorientated and you have a headache?  That’s how she acted.”  
  
"And there were no other symptoms?  No sudden fever or…”  Peter prompted, shaking his head and watching her carefully, unwilling to lead his witness by mentioning the unnatural, ethereal lights he’d witnessed emanating from Donna during previous attacks.  
  
“No,” Maddie responded without hesitation.  “No, I helped her to her feet.  She was dazed and unsteady, but she didn’t feel warm or anything.”   Maddie watched Peter process the information, puzzling at the grim pall that settled over his fine features.  He paused, clearly debating, then stepped closer, his voice dropping into an urgent whisper.  
  
"Did she say anythin’ unusual?  Anythin’ a’tol?” he demand, his expression both desperate and desolate.  “Anythin’ bout runnin’ or about bein’ left behind?  Did she say anythin’ about hearin’ strange singin’?"  He chewed his lip anxiously, glancing over his shoulder as Donna shifted on the sofa behind them.  “Did she wring her hands, act like she was lookin’ for a ring?"  
  
“No, Peter, no.  Nothing like that,” Maddie replied, struggling to remember.  She chanced a quizzical glance at Ian and his eyes widened sadly in response.  
  
“Somethin’ about midnight then, at a library?  Or about roses?" Peter persisted, stepping a bit closer to touch her arm, his eyes dark and intense.  "Did she say anythin' about knownin’ Dr. Smith?”  
  
“No.  She didn’t have time,” Maddie said decisively.  "He appeared on screen, you rang off and she went down."  
  
Peter exhaled heavily and stepped back, thrusting one hand roughly through his hair.  He remembered himself and nodded his thanks to Maddie as he started for the living room but his progress was arrested by a soft hand graced with a dazzling ring.  
  
“Peter, before you wake her, you should know,” Madeline warned gravely.  "There was a bit of drama with her friend, Nerys, just after you left."  
  
“Friend?” Peter snorted in disdain. “What sort of drama d’ye mean?"  
  
"Mairead and I stepped away from the table to talk and give Donna space to recover.  I know the George is your regular haunt and that Donna must have friends there, so I didn’t think anything of it when Nerys sat down at the table, though I could tell Mairead wasn’t best pleased,“ Maddie explained with a wry twist to her lips.  "Nerys and Donna ended up having a ferocious row, and I heard your name at least once."  
  
"My name?” Peter asked, his attention diverted by the soft noises coming from the living room behind him.  Donna’s head disappeared entirely as she twisted in her sleep and Peter had to force himself to concentrate on Maddie again.  "What was the argument about?"  
  
"I’ll let Donna tell you.  I wasn’t near enough to hear it all, and besides, it’s not my place,” Maddie demurred.  “But I will tell you this: whatever was said, it wasn’t pretty, and from what little I did hear, Donna gave twice as good as she got.”  Ian’s arms tightened around her and she closed her eyes, leaning back gratefully against his chest.  She frowned thoughtfully.  "Actually, now that I think of it, Donna acted as though she felt much better after, at least until we made ready to leave,” Maddie added, slightly surprised at the recollection.  
  
Peter looked over to Ian, a frown creasing his face as he Maddie’s words registered.  “Until ye left?  What happened then?”  Just as he was about to launch into another volley of questions, a familiar voice drifted in from the living room.  
  
“Peter?” Donna mumbled as she turned over.  “Policeman?  Is that you?"  
  
“Aye, a chuisle, right here,” he called, moving quickly to her side.  “I’m sorry we’re so late, but-“  
  
The rest of his apology was lost as Donna sprang from her makeshift bed in a flurry and threw her arms around him.  Then, just as abruptly and much to Maddie’s surprise, she pulled away and delivered a resounding smack to Peter's arm.  Maddie glanced up at Ian who merely shrugged philosophically, having witnessed firsthand the sound and fury that was Donna Noble when roused to anger.  
  
“That’s for scaring me nearly half to death, Detective Dumbo!” Donna cried indignantly, her chin trembling as she fought back a sob.  “What the bloody hell were you thinkin’?!?"  
  
“Donna, I-“ Peter began, reaching out to her, but to no avail.  She swatted his hands away and planted herself firmly before him, standing nearly toe to toe.  
  
"Runnin’ off like that and then you hang up and don't bother callin’ me back!” Donna complained emphatically, stabbing her finger at his chest. “Not one bloody word from you for six hours, eighteen minutes and thirty-four seconds!”  She clenched her hands into fists and whirled away in an impressive display of restraint to keep herself from punching him soundly in the jaw before whipping back around, advancing upon him once more.  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be left behind like that, Peter Carlisle?  Not knownin’ what’s happened to you?  Not knowin' if you’re alive or dead?” she raged, all but tearing at her own hair in despair.  “And here I sit, waitin’ all this time, afraid to call or text you for fear your mobile will go off in the middle of somethin’ and you’ll end up hurt or-or-or dead, and it’ll all be my fault?!?” Donna cried, nearly vibrating in indignation.  "You’re the one who keeps tellin’ me how dangerous you think my life before was, and then you go off and… and… and…,” she hiccuped, her anger dissolving in the wake of her relief at seeing him again.  
  
In the midst of her tirade, Peter had gone strangely quiet, his hands held still at his sides.  From the kitchen, temporarily forgotten in the storm, Maddie puzzled over the vaguely neutral expression he wore as he waited for Donna's fury to break.  “Mo gradh, I’m sorry,’ he murmured softly.  "I’m fine.  A chuisle mo chroí, I’m here.”  He slowly lifted his arms, opening them wide, and simply waited.  
  
Donna hesitated, vacillating between laying him out with a punch or or a kiss.  In the end, she did neither.  “Oh, Peter,” she cried, flinging herself at him and hugging him tightly.  “Don’t you ever even think of doin' anythin’ like that to me again!”  She pushed herself away to look up into his eyes.  "Are you…Did you….What happened?”  Her hands fluttered over his arms and chest as she spoke, as if to assure herself that he was real and not just an insubstantial dream, ready to slip from her grasp.  "Where’s Maddie?  Where’s Ian?” she demanded, her eyes darting around madly.  
  
“In the kitchen, Donna,” Maddie called, raising a mug.  “Just making a cuppa and getting a biscuit for Ian.  Should I get some for you?”  
  
Donna nodded, relaxing fractionally as she saw the two of them stood together in the kitchen.  “Oh, yes, please.  I’m nearly gaspin’,” she replied, seemingly calm though her hands still trembled on Peter's arms. "Policeman?” she tried to ask casually, though the quaver in her voice betrayed her when she looked into his eyes.  
  
“Uh…aye, right,” Peter stammered as his train of thought was unexpectedly derailed.  “Tea and biscuits, yeah.”  He blinked, suddenly remembering the hour and closing his eyes as the first ragged wave of exhaustion washed over him.  “Make it three.”  
  
“Of course,” Maddie replied, pointing Ian to the cabinet for more mugs.  
  
When Maddie turned away, Donna’s lowered her voice to a near whisper and began to pepper Peter with more questions.  "What happened at the stadium?  Was everyone OK?” she demanded.  "That running bloke, Farewell or Fairweather or whatever, was he all right?”  
  
Still in the kitchen, Maddie breathed a sigh of relief.  “I’m glad that’s over,” she murmured, leaning against Ian as she waited for the kettle to boil.  “She was trying hard to hide it, but Donna was worried sick while the two of you were gone.“  
  
"I wouldn’t count on that being quite the end of it, Maddie,” Ian replied, tucking her under his arm and looking over her head to where Peter stood, doing his best to calm his agitated lover. His gaze swept methodically over the room, making mental note of Maddie’s jacket and bag on the rack near the door and he offered up a sanguine smile when he realized Maddie was aware of his actions.  “Peter hasn’t had his say in all this yet,” he explained, playing with a stray lock of her hair, “though judging from his reaction, he does seem to have learned something from their last spat.”  Ian eased the errant strands back into place as Maddie chanced a quick glance at their friends before returning to the tea.  
  
“Everythin’s fine, we’re all fine,” Peter crooned, instinctively reaching up with both hands to smooth Donna's hair away from her face.  “We’re all fine, aye?”  He was inordinately relieved when she didn’t flinch away and he closed his eyes and drew her close, kissing her in an attempt to ground them both in the moment.  At the touch of his lips, she settled into him with a sigh, until recent events came crashing back.  
  
“But Policeman, I saw- then you rang off, but I- and then, he-“ Donna spluttered, pushing herself away from him and gesturing wildly but always managing to keep one hand firmly planted on his chest.  
  
“I know, I know,” Peter murmured.  “Be calm, a chuisle.  Just catch yer breath."  He folded her back into his arms, and waited for her frenetic movements to settle.  When she finally relaxed and began to breathe normally, he spoke again. ‘’Everyone is OK, but, Donna, I’m sorry, I… I’m sorry,” he declared, his voice low and heavy with regret.  "Doctor Smith, he…he got away.”  
  
He watched carefully as Donna’s face went strangely blank and something behind her eyes shifted and changed, becoming somehow alien and positively ancient.  She looked beyond him, her forehead crinkling as she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.  His gaze shot to her hands, but they remained still on his arms.  
  
"Not surprisin',” she murmured, closing her eyes and slipping into the past, even as he desperately tried to draw her nearer.  “He always was one to do a runner.”  A single tear welled up and sat trembling at the corner of her eye and as it spilled over, Peter gritted his teeth.  Donna swayed slightly but righted herself almost at once, splaying both hands against him and pushing herself back once more to arm’s length.  She frowned immediately, shaking her head and leaning back into him, her left hand steady over his heart while her right ranged fitfully across the other side of his chest.  
  
Peter’s jaw tightened as her awareness skittered away from the present but he remained outwardly calm.  “Tell me what ye’re rememberin', Donna,” he breathed, fighting the urge to brush the tear from her cheek and chance breaking her trance.  Her right hand continued to flitter back and forth across his chest until it settled beside her left hand, cupped protectively over his heart.  Donna felt his single heartbeat beneath her hands, strong and true, and Peter watched as she relaxed into a beatific smile.  “Donna, keep yer eyes closed an’ tell me what ye remember,” he coaxed, letting his voice guide her back to the present.  
  
“Remember?” Donna echoed, shaking her head and blinking rapidly.  She focused on her hands, then fixed Peter with a puzzled frown.  “Remember what?  What are you on about, Policeman?”  
  
“Ye just said Dr. Smith wasnae above bunkin’ off when it suited him,” Peter responded more brusquely than he intended.  
  
“I didn’t,” Donna declared.  She eyed him as if he were mad, but then her expression fell slightly.  She cocked her head to the side and frowned, biting her lip in consternation.  “I didn’t….did I?” she repeated uncertainly.  
  
“Ye did,” he insisted, grasping her arms.  "D’ye remember he where would go?  What was the protocol ye were to follow when compromised?” Peter persisted, his eyes dark and intense.  “May be that I can still find h— "  
  
“Peter, please, don’t do this," Donna interrupted, laying her hand back on his chest.  She was dismayed to feel the rhythm under her palm quicken and she realized she could see his pulse pounding in a vein at his neck.  “Peter, please, I told you.  Just leave it,” she urged him gently, caressing his cheek and looking up into his eyes.  "Just let it go.”  
  
“No, no this time. I cannae,” he said flatly.  “This time, yer Dr. Smith, he broke the law."  
  
He stared resolutely at Donna, and just as determinedly, she refused to look away.  “What?” she squawked in surprise, taking a step back and peering at Peter indignantly.  “My doc—?“  
  
“Dinnae argue with me, Donna,” he continued in a growl, forestalling her anticipated argument.  “His actions have made it my duty.  The man has brought this down upon himself, it’s no my doin’!"  
  
She blinked at him in astonishment, taken aback at the stinging vehemence in his words before recovering sufficiently to launch her counterattack.  "Lightin' the Olympic torch when the torchbearer is incapacitated is a crime now?” she challenged.  
  
“No,” he corrected her almost petulantly, “but impersonatin' an officer of the law is."  
  
“What!?!” Donna exclaimed, her eyes widening in sudden understanding.  “That’s how he escaped?”  
  
“Aye,” Peter spat back.  
  
"He said he was you?” she demanded breathlessly.  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“He…he used your name?” she clarified, pointing at him in dismay.  
  
“Well, no exactly…,” Peter admitted with reluctance.  
  
In the kitchen, Maddie stood agape at the unexpected turn the conversation had abruptly taken as Ian eased a forgotten mug of tea from her grasp and placed it noiselessly in the sink.  
  
“Exit, pursued by a bear,” he murmured in her ear, earning himself a perplexed look.  He nodded in the direction of the two soon-to-be combatants and then smiled at her, moving to unobtrusively gather up her discarded belongings.  Maddie looked from Ian back to Donna and Peter stood in the living room, not wanting to intrude but reluctant to leave without a proper goodbye.  She watched as Peter all but writhed on the spot, scratching at his neck and grimacing at his own words.  
  
“What is it, then?” Donna demanded, hands on hips.  “Just what exactly did he do that made it imperative that you track him down now?  And — If he did somethin’ wrong, and I’m not sayin’ that picking’ up somethin’ someone else has dropped and completin’ a task for an injured man qualifies as a high crime or a misdemeanor— why do you have to be the one huntin’ him?"  
  
“Donna, I'm a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police Force," Peter flung back hastily.  "As he fled the scene, he let on like he was me.  He insinuated that —"  
  
“He.  **In**.  **Sin** -U-Ated,” Donna said emphatically, punctuating each syllable with a forceful jab at the air.  
  
Maddie still gaped in horror at the train wreck occurring before her as Ian slipped the blanket from her shoulders and replaced it with her jacket, skirting her around the kitchen in a surreptitious attempt to reach the door unobserved.  
  
"Aye,” she heard Peter snap defensively.  “He encouraged the misidentification and did nothin'—"  
  
“So what you’re sayin’, Policeman, and by all means, correct me if I’m wrong,” Donna cried broadly, throwing her hair back over her shoulder with obvious irritation, “is that it’s his fault that the officers on duty — it’s **his** fault that **they** assumed that he was you, yeah?"  
  
“Of course,” Peter snarled back.  “When they addressed him, he should ha—"  
  
"Well, then,” Donna interrupted, hands on her hips, peering at him through narrowed eyes, “All he’s guilty of is having the audacity to resemble you, is that it? Cos according to you, he didn’t even say your name!  He probably doesn’t even know you exist and you’re ready to arrest him for simple spatial genetic multiplicity!”  She crossed her arms over her chest theatrically and tilted her head back in order to peer down her nose at him.  "That’s hardly fair, don’t you think?”  
  
“Spacial genetic….what in hell does that even mean?!?” he bellowed, stalking away before whirling back to face her.  “And ye?  I cannae believe yer takin’ his side in this!  After all he’s done to ye, and ye’re protectin’ him!”  
  
Ian eased the door open and silently ushered Maddie through.  “I think it’s best that we leave them to it, don’t you?” he murmured after he'd managed to maneuver the door shut behind them.  
  
“Do you think that’s wise?” Maddie whispered doubtfully.  “They’re both bloody furious."  
  
“They need to work this out, and it will go better, I think, without an audience,” Ian reasoned.  “I’ve seen them like this before.  They’ll rage at each other awhile and then it’ll be done.”  He held out his hand for hers as he started down the stairs.  "Let’s come not between the dragon and his wrath."  
  
“I feel terrible, though, leaving like that.  I’m going to have to call in the morning to apologize,” Maddie said, casting one last glance back up the stairs at the shadows flickering on the glass beside Donna’s door.  
  
“I’m sorry, Maddie, for having to run off tonight.  Truly I am,” Ian said as Maddie fought a losing battle against a jaw-cracking yawn.  "Let me make it up to you.  I’ll take you home and then, tomorrow, we’ll have dinner together, somewhere nice.  Anywhere you like.  Your choice.”  
  
“Shut it, you,” she said fondly with a weary smile.  "I knew what I was saying yes to when I agreed to marry you."  
  
“Yes, you did,” Ian replied, his smile widening as he gripped her hand a bit tighter.  “You know what life with a police detective can be like."  
  
"I just wonder if Donna does,” she worried aloud, looking around for Ian’s car as they reached the street.  A sudden jerk of her head put Ian on high alert as Maddie gasped aloud, pointing into the darkness to her right.  
  
“What is it?” Ian demanded, whirling her deftly behind him as he faced the spot she indicated with a steady hand.  
  
"Did you see him?” she cried, clutching at Ian’s arm as she peered out from behind him.  "Standing in the shadows there?  He was watching us.  It was him, the same man, I know it!"  
  
“Who?” Ian asked, nonplussed. “Who are you talking about?  I don’t see anyone."  
  
“I’m sure it was him,” Maddie insisted, twisting out of his grasp to walk directly into the gloom.  “That tourist."  
  
"What tourist?” Ian demanded from close behind her.  “Who are you talking about?”  
  
“Hello?  Hello!” she called into the night before swinging back to face Ian with a muttered curse.  “I swear it was him!  The one who held the cab for us, tonight, at the George!” Maddie exclaimed in frustration, pivoting on her heel and searching fruitlessly for any movement in the shadows.  
  
“Maddie, are you sure you saw someone?  It’s only that it’s late and you’re tired, and there’s no one there now,” Ian explained, letting her circle him one last time.  She huffed in frustration, blowing her fringe up and out of her eyes before allowing Ian to lead her to his car parked at the kerb.  
  
“Maybe you’re right, but I could have sworn….” she trailed off thoughtfully and sighed.  "When we were leaving the George, Donna had a sudden, severe migraine,” Maddie explained as Ian opened the door and waited for her to climb inside.  She watched him make his way around and when he slid into the driver’s seat, she continued.  “She was fine just after that fight with her friend, but as we got ready to go, the closer we got to the door, the more ill she looked.  She tried to play it off, but when she stepped out of doors, her headache doubled her over and she could barely walk.”  
  
“I’m glad you were there to help her home,” Ian remarked as he readied to pull out into the street.  
  
“Oh, I was just thankful for the man who stepped out of the cab and held it for us,” Maddie said, stifling another yawn.  “Honestly, his timing was spot on.  It couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d planned it.  I mean, just as I opened the door for us to leave, that American tourist —“  
  
“What did you just say?” Ian snapped, jerking back to look at her curiously.  
  
“There was an American tourist getting out of a cab in front of the George.  Luckily, he noticed that Donna wasn’t feeling well and held the car for us, that’s all,” Maddie explained, eyeing him warily as she replied.  
  
“What makes you say he was American?” Ian persisted, swiveling in his seat to face her completely.  
  
“Well, when he paid the cabbie, his accent was unmistakeable—” she began.  
  
“What did he look like?” Ian interrupted, unclenched his hands from the strangle hold he belatedly realized he had on the steering wheel.  “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”  
  
“Uh, maybe?” Maddie replied with a shrug.  "I mean, yeah, he was a bit nice to look at, but I didn't really see his face clearly.  I was too busy with Donna to pay much attention to him.  He held the door so I could bundle Donna in, then closed the door behind us.  That was the last I saw of him.”  
  
Ian nodded and put the car in gear, finally pulling away from the kerb and turning onto the high street.  He turned the events of the night over and over in his mind, trying to make all the disparate parts fit into a coherent whole.  Just when he resolved to let it all lie until morning, his thought were interrupted by a titanic yawn from Maddie.  
  
"It must have been his first visit abroad,” she added, apropos of nothing, "what with his unseasonable attire.”  
  
Ian could feel the blood freeze in his veins, but he promised himself that he wouldn’t visibly react as Maddie adjusted her seat and lay back, stretching out her legs and rubbing at her eyes.  "Why do you say that?” he asked, carefully modulating his voice.  
  
“Well, the poor man obviously didn’t realize it actually gets warm here in the summer,” Maddie replied wearily.  "I remember thinking he must have been broiling in that greatcoat,” she finished with one last yawn as she snuggled into her jacket and finally let sleep claim her.  
  
  



	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s standing before him, right now, no more than four, maybe four and a half feet away, and everything about her reeks of passion. He watches her, somehow in the moment and yet standing outside himself. Donna is there, one full stride and an arms’ length away, flinging her hands and her accusations at him with equal vigor. She’s angry and so is he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just happened. I really wasn't planning on it, it just happened.
> 
> And I'm aware that quite a bit of it - entire paragraphs, if I'm quite honest- is composed of enormous, run-on sentences that never seem to end. It just made sense to me this way.
> 
> Here's hoping you like it.

She’s standing before him, right now, no more than four, maybe four and a half feet away, and everything about her reeks of passion.  He watches her, somehow in the moment and yet standing outside himself.  Donna is there, one full stride and an arms’ length away, flinging her hands and her accusations at him with equal vigor.   She’s angry and so is he.

But, no.

No.

That’s not right.

She’s not angry, exactly.  She’s furious, radiant with a pulsing, desperate outrage, a bright and terrible mirror to his own dark wrath and brooding resentment.  He wants this to stop. He longs to fold her into his arms and hold her and never, never, ever let her go.  He wants to kiss away her anger and her fear and have her tremble against him with a different kind of passion, no less violent but much more welcome than the tremors passing through them both now.  He wants her to know that he loves her and that he’d never withstand the loss of her if she were ever to walk out of his life.  But inside, he’s raging against the pitch-black suspicion that she has never truly been his in the first place, that she's been unconsciously marking time with him as she waits for the Other to simply waltz back into her life, take her down from the shelf where he abandoned her, and plonk her back in place at his side.

Donna's building herself up into a towering rage and he marvels at it, though he's no stranger to conflict, far from it.  Peter grew up in a house where strife was the norm and, night after night, he hid behind doors, listening and praying.  Night after night, he stood in the dark and when he was old enough to understand, he swore that when he was a man, it would be different.  But when he married Roselyn, they had both been barely more than children and when it finally ended, it ended childishly.  By the time she finally left him for an older, richer, more successful man, he knew he’d broken his oath and he'd long since run out of prayers.  

But with Donna, it’s different.  Donna’s no child and Peter’s not entirely sure she ever was, even when she was young.  She’s a complex set of contradictions, confident and commanding one moment, vulnerable and insecure the next, and he’s dead set on puzzling her out, deciphering her cryptic clues, understanding her mysteries. She never fails to surprise him, from her quiet compassion to the symphony of indignation she's zealously conducting for his benefit alone.  What amazes him most, though, what he knows but still can’t quite allow himself to fathom, is that the anger on full display before him isn’t born of bitter dissatisfaction and disappointment **with** him, but the exact opposite.  Instead, she’s all but glowing with irrational fury because she’s afraid **for** him.

He and Natalie never fought like this.  She was soft and tentative, even in her anger, barely ever raising her voice before quieting again, even at the worst of times.  She always held back, always, even when he desperately tried to lay bare his soul to her.  In his charitable moments, he attributes her reticence to being responsible for someone else’s happiness and well-being, to being a mother, accustomed to always putting her children's interests before her own.  In his darker funks, he lays the blame squarely at his own feet, for letting her see the cruelty buried deep in his soul when she’d fled from the cold lies he’d flung at her, stood in the doorway of a seaside hotel room.

One door closed, and another one opens.

From somewhere far, far away, he somehow registers the tiny snick of the lock as the door behind them closes, and he knows without looking that Ian and Maddie have gone.  Just as remarkable is the sudden realization that he's not heard the last three wickedly-barbed bon mots Donna's launched his way because his responses are on autopilot as his attention is instead focused on all the tiny, subtle clues in her that he's been searching for.  The way her hands keep stretching out for his, only to snap back to her sides. The tiny, almost insubstantial waver in her voice as she fights to reign in her habitually offensive defense. The fire that flashes in her eyes that provides an almost-convincing smoke-screen to hide the price she’s paying in the torment of this display.

And there!  There it is!  That moment when she realizes that, no matter the cost to her injured pride, she can't possibly begin to imagine her life without him and the only thing preventing her from launching herself at him and never, ever letting him go is the sheer, stark terror that she's finally succeeded in pushing him away, and she's biting her lip and fighting back tears and not once- not one, single, bloody moment in this whole, horrible ordeal- not once has her right hand searched her left for a ring lost to her past - and he knows.

Peter Carlisle knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Donna Noble is his, and his alone. His Fetch, that Doppelgänger, his Evil Twin?  That man holds no sway over her heart and the only reason she stands before him, trembling and on the brink of desperate, angry tears is that she loves him more than she can say and before he realizes it, he's closed that space between them and pulled her into his arms and he's kissing her, fiercely and possessively and she's kissing him back just as ruthlessly.

Her hands are twisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, and she’s sobbing as the tears course down her cheeks to soak her blouse and he’s wiping them away at the same time as he’s kissing her, as his breath leaves his body and enters hers, and in his soul, he’s defying the stars to try and separate them again. He won't share her. She's his and his alone. That Other, he can’t have her. He relinquished his claim on her the day he walked out and left her to the less-than-tender mercies of her mother and the brave vigilance of her grandfather. He abandoned her in a way Peter can never comprehend or condone but for which he's profoundly grateful nonetheless.

She knows him, inside and out.  He’s bared his soul, revealed to her those darkest parts of himself and yet she loves him all the more for it.  She looked into his darkness and he is filled with her light.  He kisses his way down her neck, laying her back against one strong arm as his right hand deftly flicks open the buttons down the front of her dark linen blouse and dear God in Heaven, she’s breathless and bothered and her heaving bosom is straining against the sheer black silk of the basque she’s barely wearing.  He wasn’t expecting this, he wasn’t, he’s only seen this garment in the pictures she sent him one terrible day shopping and he sighs with the most exquisite longing, pausing momentarily to ghost one finger across the tops of her breasts, to admire the way her nipples have tightened into peaks under the filmy silk and as her breathing stutters, she arches her back and he sees the dusky pink of her areola just peeking out beneath his fingers and he comes undone.

But they are too alike in their passions.  At the same moment Peter begins to consciously act on his desires, Donna recovers from the delicious shock of finding his arms around her once more, his lips pressed desperately against hers.  She finds her hands groping for the hem of his shirt and she’s tugging it up and she somehow manages to time it so that just as he finally breaks the kiss to allow the both of them some much-needs oxygen, she yanks his shirt over his head and flings it away, just in time for him to lunge back in and press his lips to hers once more.  And all the while, that little voice in the back of her head, the one telling her to be reasonable, to back off, to be careful, to go slow?  Donna grabs that little voice and she frog-marches it farther into the dark recesses of her mind, straight into a gloomy little cell, as far away from conscious thought as possible, and she crams that little voice in and slams the door shut, she locks it and promptly tosses away the key.

She can’t see anything but him, she can’t hear or smell or taste anything but him and that’s good, that’s fine, because she doesn’t want to anyway and she’s so happy, she’s so proud of his quick, responsive mind because when she decides she’s had enough of his soft, almost tentative caress, her lips and her hands and those sighs she’s making demand more of him and Peter readily complies.  She's working the zip of his jeans and he’s stepping up and out of his trainers, kicking them off and away somewhere behind him at the same time his own clever fingers find first the drawstring that releases her trousers to fall to the floor, then the tiny row of hooks that run up the front of that gorgeous black silk barrier, the one that barely hides those spots he wants most to lap at, to nibble, to suck.  She scrabbles frantically at his jeans and he wriggles his hips to help her work them off faster but that destroys his balance and he has to concentrate on staying upright just a few moments longer, at least until he can release all those asinine little fasteners that are preventing him from kissing all the way down her body, from the tiny little crease at the base of her neck and across her collarbone, over each magnificently lickable breast and finally into the valley between that leads unerringly to a pair of tiny black panties and the bright tangle of red-gold curls that conceal his eventual goal.

But Donna is no fool.  She’s reaped the many benefits of his oral fixation, usually several times a night, and she knows exactly what will happen the moment he manages to free her and she’s too impatient to wait for what she craves.  She doesn’t just want him now, she needs him, she’s needed him for hours, for days, for months, for her entire life, and yes, the things she knows he’ll do to her, given less than half a chance, are glorious, amazing even, and she wants everything he wants, but first, she has a few life-goals of her own, thank you very, very much!  She starts to kneel, to tug that sublimely form-fitting denim down his body, dragging her fingertips over the perfect curve of his arse in the process and he inhales sharply in response, his arms tightening around her reflexively, pulling her up, firmly against him.  He just manages to rid himself of his jeans, slinging them away with a convulsive twitch of his leg, off to join his trainers somewhere behind him but before Donna can divest him of his pants as well, he’s furiously working at those infernal hooks again.

She inhales deeply which causes her breasts to swell upwards, much to Peter’s delight and Donna leans back a tiny bit, granting him better access to the fasteners beneath her breasts and down her torso.  He’s got most of them but, in his impatience, he’s futilely trying to shimmy the basque down and over her hips, entirely missing the original intent of the garment and completely ignoring the dimensional improbability of the tactic.   _Oh, really! Enough is enough_ , she decides, and in her considered opinion, this gothic confection she’s wearing should be classified as a torture device rather than a form of enticing lingerie.  She pulls in her stomach and grabs both sides of the garment, pushing them together and away from her body in one fluid movement that pops free all the remaining hooks.  Peter grins in admiration of her practical cleverness even as his eyes go wide, his eyebrows threatening to disappear from his forehead entirely at the sight of her finally bouncing free.  He growls her name from deep in his chest and wraps one long arm around her, pulling her close and diving in to lick the skin just between her breasts as his other hand tugs impatiently at the scrap of silk still around her hips, in effect trapping her hands between them.

She releases the breath she forgot she’d been holding in a frustrated huff and he hears it, loosens his hold on her and looks up in confusion from his possessive exploration of her body and that’s all the distraction she needs.  She pushes him back as she whirls around and when the front of the sofa hits the back of his knees, he falls, but since he won’t release her, he’s taking her with him.  Her hands are tangled in his hair and as she realizes what’s happening, she swivels so that she falls beside him and before she can catch her breath, he’s twisting and turning, pursuing her, pushing himself along with her, up and onto the sofa cushions.

Donna, however, steadfastly refuses to be outmaneuvered, and she digs in with her shoulders, halting her upwards movement as she snatches at his pants, managing to pull them down as he propels himself further up her body.  He pauses as realization hits, holding himself above her with one hand as he struggles to help her in her goal with the other.  When his underwear is finally tangled somewhere about his knees, Donna manages to lift one leg sufficient to plant her foot within the offending swath of cotton and drags it off his body completely.  He laughs aloud, a single, triumphant bark of joy before he dives back to his chosen task of making her scream his name.

She won’t wait, she can't wait and besides, she’s pretty confident that there’ll be time enough for their more…creative...forms of self-expression later on, free from the concern that they might be disturbing the peace of their neighbors, but for right now, she wants him.  Donna wants to feel Peter, hot and solid against her and over her and inside her. She wants his delicious weight above her, pushing her down.  But Peter Carlisle is a man on a mission, dead set on climbing down her body and burying his face between her legs just to hear those bloody fucking gorgeous sounds she makes.

He’s hard for her, so hard it almost hurts, but he has his priorities.  He wants her, now and forever but she has to know that he does, he has to prove it to her with both body and soul.  He loves that he can make her cry out with just his tongue, and there’s something faintly ruthless in the way he presses a hand to her belly to keep her in place as he adds to her exquisite torment by bringing those long, slender fingers into play.  She squirms beneath the dual onslaught of talented tongue and dancing digits, twining her own fingers into his hair as he swirls his tongue delicately over that tiny bud of nerves at her core.  She’s beginning to pant now and Peter smiles against her, listening intently as her vocalizations slip up the chromatic scale of her sighs until she’s moaning outright, growing louder and more wanton with each lick and twist.

She wants to speak, to use words to persuade, to beg, to order him to comply with what she wants but in all honesty, she can’t remember how to do that, even if she could recall what she intended to demand.  She’s swimming in a sea of sensations, centered upon the man at her center, and she's nearly drowning in him as he goes down for the third time.  She’s a banquet laid out before, him a feast for all his senses and he’s determined to see her arch her back off the couch before moving into her embrace.  She’s almost there, he can feel it in the tremble of her thighs as she unconsciously shifts her hips, tilting upwards, opening herself to him further even as one leg wraps around his waist and she presses her heel desperately into the small of his back.

“Peter,” she chokes out, almost sobbing in her need of him.  “Oh, Peter…"

She’s so close, she’s there, yes, right there, right THERE and just as she screams, as she pulls her hands away so that she won’t accidentally yank out his hair, he’s suddenly back above her and then he’s inside her, plunging deeply, again and again in hard, fast strokes until he's riding the crest of her wave.  Her world flares white hot behind her eyes as every nerve ending explodes at once in a wash of exquisite feeling and the sheer elation, the joy of being alive and of being loved.  Donna’s floating on the edge of consciousness and the delicious ripples of her climax rolling throughout her body as Peter gently rocks against her.  He's saying something, he’s breathing it against her neck, chanting it into her skin, and he has been for quite some time, she realizes as she comes back to her senses.

“Donna, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sor—“ he whispers until she silences him with a finger laid against his lips.

“No, Peter,” she says quietly, knowing that he can sense the command behind the words.  “I never, ever want to hear those words from you, not now, not ever again, not like that.”

He raises up on one elbow, shifting his weight onto his hip and she speaks again before he can protest.

"Do you hear me, Policeman?” she quietly demands.  "Never again.  You can apologize if you have to, you can tell me you have regrets, you can even say you wish something had been different, but I never, ever want to hear you say you’re sorry for something again.”  He opens his mouth to protest and Donna silences him with one word.  "Ever.”

“Besides,” she goes on, closing her eyes as he tenderly smooths her hair away from her face, “you have nothing to be sorry for.  I’m the one who should be asking for your forgiveness.  I overreacted, I went all bolshie on you.”

"A chuisle mo chroí,” he murmurs, kissing her eyelids, “the fault was-“

“No,” she states vehemently, bracing her hands against his chest as her eyes fly open.  “You were only doing your job.  I know that, I do.”  She shakes her head and bites her lip, looking over his head to avoid meeting his gaze.  "I was being unreasonable and selfish, and I was...worried,” she finishes in a small voice.

“Worried?” he wonders, twisting a curl of flame-bright hair around his finger.  He lets it slide free and drops his hand to her shoulder, following the curve of her arm down and taking her hand in his.  “Whatever for?” he asks as he interlaces their fingers, pulling them up to rest against his chest.  He takes a chance and lets his thumb softly caress that empty space on her left ring finger, just above her palm.

Her breath catches and she looks up into his face, her eyes large and luminous, bright with brimming tears.  “I worry that one day, you’ll realize that I’m too much hard work and that you’re better off without me,” she confesses as the tears spill over and stream down into her hair.  "I worry that I’ll drive you away with all my shouting and that you’ll leave me.”  He lays down against her side and twists his free arm up and around her head to wipe away her tears, murmuring words of comfort that she doesn’t yet hear.  "I worry that you’ll move on and forget me,” she sobs brokenly, turning her face into the crook of his neck, "and that I’ll never be able to survive being unable to forget you.”

He pulls back just far enough to silence her with a tender kiss, sweet and loving, and he can taste the salt of her tears on her skin.  "Doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love,” he swears against her lips. He lifts her hand and brushes his lips across her knuckles and prays that soon, very, very soon, she'll never have to grope for that missing band again because the bare spot on the third finger of her left hand will be occupied by his ring, and he swears to heaven above and all the devils in hell besides that she'll never, never ever want to take it off, but especially not because of something he’s done.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You bastard,” Jack growled as he flung wide the TARDIS door with enough force to bounce it off the wall, the reverberations echoing around the strangely quiet control room.

"You bastard,” Jack growled as he flung wide the TARDIS door with enough force to bounce it off the wall, the reverberations echoing around the strangely quiet control room.  He winced internally, sending a silent apology to the Time/Space machine even as he strode over to where the Doctor sat primly on the jump seat.  “You deceptive, manipulative, infuriating bastard!”

“Jack, how lovely to see you again,” said the Doctor, raising one nearly invisible eyebrow in time with his tightening smile.  “Can I offer you some tea?  A Jammy Dodger?”  He raised a floral china plate with one hand and a delicate rice-patterned blue and white teacup with the other.  He peered closely at the biscuit on the plate and chuckled.   "Oooh, look, it’s all jammy inside, hence the appropriate moniker,” he enthused.  "You really ought to have one, Captain.” 

Jack merely glared at him in response, crossing his arms and planting his feet wide on the glass floor below. 

“Did I never tell you about the time I defeated an invasion force of Daleks during the Blitz, holding them off with nothing more than sheer nerve, or moxie as the Americans of the period might have said, sheer moxie and a Jammy Dodger?  No?”  the Doctor wittered on, still holding out the plate and taking another biscuit for himself.  When Jack remained resolutely silent, the Doctor stretched out and set the plate carefully on the console.  “Well.  Your loss,” he said airily, sipping his tea and munching on his biscuit.

“What the hell are you playing at?  What’s going on?” Jack demanded angrily.  “You said she would burn. You warned everyone away, said if she remembered you, she'd die. But Donna saw you, the other you, the past you she traveled with and you knew all along that this was going to happen.”  He stepped closer to the Doctor, one accusatory finger prodding in his direction.  "You knew you’d been here and that you’d been seen on TV, but did you think to tell me?  NO!”  He flung his hands up and reeled away, still venting his frustrations.  "You let me see you, same as everyone else in the entire country— no.” 

He stopped short and swung back around to face the Doctor who remained in place, blithely sipping his tea.  "No, scratch that. THE ENTIRE WORLD SAW YOU, prancing about on INTERNATIONAL TELEVISION, everyone on the WHOLE BLOODY PLANET,” he bellowed, "including one Donna Noble!”  He advanced on the Doctor again, eyes flashing fire and hands thrown wide.  "Remember her?  The Most Important Woman in all of Creation?  Your best friend, the one you asked me to protect?  The woman you profess to love?  And you neglect to warn me that past you was preparing to parade around during the opening ceremonies of the Olympics?” 

When the Doctor casually set his cup and saucer down and reached for another biscuit, Jack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Doctor, Torchwood is gone and I’m not your one-man cleanup crew,” he ground out on the end of an exasperated exhalation.  “I see you - the other you,“ he said, doing an awkwardly vague mime of spiky hair and a long coat, "and I'm off on a frantic hunt of 999 calls.  I broke every safety regulation to get to Donna,” he cried, shaking the Vortex Manipulator on his wrist for emphasis, "just in time to see her collapse through the window.  I was preparing to charge in and take over, trying to work out the quickest way to get her to a stasis chamber, when she surprised the hell out of me - and everyone around her - by snatching the mobile away from her friend and canceling the ambulance instead of, oh, I dunno- dying?”

The Doctor still had no comment but Jack didn't miss the Cheshire smile that flashed across his face, vanishing behind the teacup he raised to his lips.

Preparing to launch back into his rant, Jack paused, considering, before he slowly continued.  “I backed off.  I watched from across the street until I saw her friend getting her ready to leave.  I got as close to her as I could without arousing attention, made it look as though I was getting out of a cab and holding it for them.  I was very close to Donna, but she didn’t react.  She looked a bit shaken, but otherwise, she was very much alive.  But you know all this, don’t you?”

The Doctor shrugged as he reached for another biscuit, that fey smile back in place and Jack felt his blood begin to boil.

"You **knew** you’d been here at the Olympics.  You **knew** you’d been on television, world-wide.  You **knew** that, even if by some miracle Donna didn’t see it, **live** ,” he spat with special emphasis, “she would see it soon, all thanks to your characteristic stealth and subtlety.”  He stomped over to the Doctor and towered over him while the Doctor merely brushed a stray crumb from his trousers.

“That video of you has been on heavy rotation ever since.  All over the telly and don’t get me started on the internet. Hell, the YouTube video alone is averaging more than 1,000 hits an hour,’ Jack cried, spinning in place, his arms thrown wide.  He leaned in close to the Doctor, gripping the back of the jump seat and bracketing him in, nostrils flaring and breathing heavily.

"Bottom line?  You knew Donna would see this.  There was no way she could have missed it,” he accused.  "You knew she was in danger, but you did nothing to prevent it, and don’t give me that “fixed point” bullshit either.  You’re up to something, something that concerns Donna and involves me, and I want to know what it is.”  With no reaction forthcoming,   Now.”

The Doctor crossed his legs, folding his hands over his knee.  He tilted his eyes up to meet Jack’s piercing gaze.  “I’m sure I don’t know—“

Jack let loose a frustrated growl, slamming his hand back down on the headrest, but the Doctor didn’t so much as twitch.  “And I’m sure you do.”  He lifted his hand only to let it crash back down again.  "Why would you endanger her life like that?  And while we’re on the subject, just why didn’t her head explode?  You were very clear on the matter before, Doctor."

“I know what I said,” the Doctor spat tetchily, finally losing his composure and leaping to his feet.  He looked away suddenly as if ashamed of himself.  "I know,” he repeated more calmly, straightening his bow tie.  "But there have been some interesting developments since then, and I’ve been monitoring her situation carefully.”

“Stalking her, you mean,” Jack snapped, stepping back and crossing his arms.

“Taking discreet readings,” the Doctor continued, mildly affronted.

“Stalking her from a distance, then,” Jack snorted with a roll of his eyes.

“Monitoring her health, checking her timelines, and…. well, her prognosis, Jack," the Doctor said hesitantly, as if he were reluctant to allow himself the luxury of hope.  "It’s changing.”

“What?” Jack breathed, whipping back to him, open-mouthed and staring as a terrible notion occurred to him.  He stumbled back against the console, gaping in horror at the man he'd thought he knew.  "Oh, my god, all this time...you knew.  You knew all along, didn’t you?  You knew she’d see him…you, the last you, and you’re just letting all this happen, even though you could stop it.”  His voice rose in undisguised alarm and he threw his arm out towards the world beyond the TARDIS door.  "You’re putting her in danger with all this.  But why?  Why would you do that?”

"Jack, it’s not what-“ the Doctor began, raising a placating hand but Jack barreled on.

"You knew I’d see you.  You knew I’d be there, that I’d track her down.  You set me the task of watching out for Donna and you knew I’d be angry enough to find you in turn and confront you with what happened.  And so you’re using me, too.” Jack raged, turning on his heel and swooping down so that he was at eye level with the last Lord of Time.  “You knew this was going to happen and you sent me close in order to test her.   But why?” he demanded, pushing back once more and striding angrily along the slick glass floor.  “You were testing her.  Testing to see if her illness was in response to seeing you- the other you- or was it my proximity, messing with her latent time sense.”

The Doctor sat serenely and let Jack continue to pace undisturbed.

“She didn't respond to me the way she did before.  This time, she hardly even flinched when I passed her,” he murmured, his steps slowing to a thoughtful gait.  "And seeing, you, the other you, seeing him on television, she was ill, yeah, but it didn't kill her.  She wasn’t burning and she wasn’t sparkling like before…”  Jack whipped round to face the Doctor once more, his face set and determined.  "Seeing you didn’t didn’t trigger the metacrisis and I want to know why.  What’s happened?  What’s different?  What have you done?"

The Doctor's expression hardened and he found himself reaching out to trace the pattern in the delicate China saucer with one barely trembling fingertip. "It’s him," he stated in a near monotone. "It's his doing, that man who’s attached himself to her."

“You mean her lover, DI Carlisle?” Jack clarified.  "Don’t be such a petty, petulant bastard.  Go on.  Say it.  Say his name,” he challenged.

“When I realized that the sight of that man didn’t kill her,” the Doctor went on, ignoring Jack, “I decided to wait.  Perhaps her reactions could give me some clue as how to best treat her…condition.”  The Doctor had the decency to look uncomfortable then, his lips drawn tight as he tugged as his waistcoat.  He inhaled deeply before rising to his feet.   "He’s drawing it off, those memories, giving her mind the time it needs to heal, to knit itself back together, to incorporate all the disparate fragments of memory that bombard her back into a whole life, centered around him.”  He turned to a stony face towards Jack.  "I brushed up against her on the Tube, you know, and I read her mind.  She barely knew I was there, but I saw it all,” he confessed, with a suspiciously glassy expression, oblivious to Jack’s sympathetic wince.

"Her memories of me, of all we’d done together, they should have been sharp and bright and precise, locked away behind the walls I’d built in her mind to protect her.  But they weren’t.”  He looked up sharply and squared his shoulders with obvious effort. "They were pockmarked.  They were becoming dull and pitted, as if something were slowly eroding them from behind the psychic defenses I’d put in place for her protection.’’ He bit off each word with blunt precision, voice rising as he stabbed his finger in the air with each point.  "Every time she almost remembers, it's wearing them down, blunting their impact,” he said, eyes glinting manically.    He spoke slowly, carefully, but without hesitation.  "He's making it safe for me to come back for her.”

Jack stared at him, incredulous.

“Don’t you see, Jack?  It’s been me all along.  She’s waiting for me,” he cried, gesturing at himself before throwing his arms wide and spinning on his heel.  "I know it. **I know it.**  His presence, he’s inoculating her against the effects of the Metacrisis.  Every time she has…. an incident…”  More uncomfortable tie tugging and waistcoat smoothing ensued before he found his voice once more.  “Every time, more of the Time Lord consciousness, it’s drawn off, bled away.  I just have to be patient, that’s all.  It’s just a matter of time and then, I can come back for her.  She and I can travel the stars together again.”  He finished with a flourish and Jack very nearly expected him to take an extravagant bow.

“So he’s curing her, just by being around her, huh?” Jack remarked once he was sure the performance had ended.  The Doctor merely smiled smugly, all cocky self-assuradness as he caught sight of his reflection in the time rotor and smoothed his hair back into place.  "I guess that makes you the disease in this analogy, yeah?” Jack continued and he was gratified to see that self-congratulatory smile falter.

The Doctor chose to ignore the jibe and plowed on.  "I’m so confident that’s the case,” he said a bit more loudly than was strictly necessary and he tapped a finger on a sticky gauge and lunged for the handbrake, "I’m thinking of simply popping into her future and picking her up again.  A year, maybe?  Two?”  The TARDIS shuddered to life as he turned to face Jack fully and suddenly the air around him shimmered and popped with menace.  "That’s all it will take."

“You’re serious,” Jack said, not bothering to hide his growing outrage.

“Of course I am.  Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, seemingly perplexed, but Jack wasn’t fooled.  The determined set of his jaw and the eerie sense of calm determination that surrounded him gave him away.  “She didn’t want to leave.  I didn’t want her to go." 

Jack stalked past the Doctor to the TARDIS doors, throwing up his hands in disgust.  "No, that’s it, Doctor.  We’re done, we’re through.”  He turned back at the last possible moment, and took two determined steps back towards the last of the Time Lords.  "I’m done being your spy and you’re not going back for her." 

"Who do you think you are?” the Doctor roared back, finally dropping his facade as he advanced.  "Just who EXACTLY do you think you’re talking to?  You don’t have the right…"

“No, YOU don’t have the right,” Jack shot back, somehow finding himself in the Doctor’s face.  "There **is** no going back.  She has a new life, with him, and she’s happy.  She’s happy with him.”

“She was happy with me!” The words broke free from the Doctor involuntarily and it was hard to hear them as anything other than a howl of anguish.

Jack surged forward, his voice as level and steady as the hand the Doctor glanced down to find planted firmly on his chest. "She’s happy with Peter Carlisle in a way you would never give her," he hissed. 

The Doctor slowly raised his head and Jack knew he was standing squarely in the eye of the Storm. He regarded the man before him coolly and the only concession he found himself willing to grant was to slowly remove his hand. "No, you gave up on her," he mused with a grim smile, determined to have his say.   "You arrogant bastard. You were SO sure there was no way to get her back.  You were too busy drowning in guilt and wallowing in self-pity to actually try to DO anything about it, and it killed you."   He spun away in cruel parody, his hands thrown theatrically wide, coming to rest just to the right of the console. "You didn’t lose her!  You're not the victim here!  You left her." 

Jack watched as the Doctor's eyes widened, darting between Jack's face and the spot on the TARDIS floor where he stood.  He staggered back a half-step, his left hand shooting up to scratch at the right side of his jaw as his eyes lost focus and roamed the room. When his clouded gaze fell upon certain areas- the third station of the console, a spot near the door where a giant coral strut once stood, the TARDIS door, but especially that spot beneath Jack's feet- the Doctor flinched visibly, twisting away as if burned. 

"You carried her limp body off the TARDIS and you abandoned her," Jack persisted, pressing his unexpected advantage.  "You left her here, back in Chiswick, and you did what you always do, what you do best." Jack paused for the length of a heartbeat to swallow against the unexpected lump in his throat. "You ran.”

"That’s not true!  I tried to save her, you have to know I did!" the Doctor choked out indignantly as he sprang back to life. 

Jack shook his head in appalled disbelief and the Doctor grabbed his arm and swung him around. 

“You weren't here!  You don't know!” the Doctor shouted before he awkwardly released Jack, stumbling away and staring down at his own hands.  He inhaled deeply and turned haunted eyes on Jack.  "I was so desperate.  I tried cracking the Skasis Paradigm for years, on my own, but when I realized what it would have required…” His jaw trembled and he wiped an unsteady hand across his face. "Well, Donna wouldn’t have thanked me for that…..And then later, I was tempted. I almost used the Manus Maleficus to bring her back, to bring them all back, but then I thought of what she would have said and I…"

"She deserved better,” Jack interrupted, still seething.  "She saved all of creation and you ran away.  You left her behind, and you never even bothered to look back.”

Jack realized too late he'd said the wrong thing.  His accusation had inadvertently recalled the Doctor to his dark purpose and he was dismayed to see the hesitation and doubt fall away from the Time Lord’s countenance, revealing the ruthlessness behind the affable veneer. The Doctor’s eyes darkened and his face lost all expression. 

"You're right about one thing, Jack,” he finally said with steely resolve.  He reached over without looking and flipped another switch.  He tugged his vest sharply straight and cocked his head to the side, his lip curling slightly as he sauntered back to Jack. He leaned in, so close that Jack could feel cool breath on his cheek.  “Donna Noble deserves better." 

“Yeah?” Jack shot back, leaning back and crossing his arms resolutely.  "Well, I’m right about more than one thing here, Doc.”  He looked down his nose, fixing the Doctor with a hard stare.  "After what you did to her?  You deserve to be alone.” 

"Not for much longer,” the Doctor growled, roughly jerking his tie defiantly straight before whirling away, back to the TARDIS console.  "And never again. Donna will be back here, in the TARDIS, back where she belongs.”  ‘ _With me_ ' he didn't say aloud.  He smashed a button and the TARDIS doors sprung obediently open. The Doctor stared at Jack, then pointedly shifted his gaze to the darkened streets of Cardiff beyond the TARDIS doors, then meaningfully back at Jack.   

Jack glanced over his shoulder and fought the urge to roll his eyes when he saw the dark, wet pavement of the Plass behind him.  "No, Doctor," Jack stated with a sniff, before nodding decisively.  "No.  Donna and Peter Carlisle belong together and you’re gonna leave them alone.  Both of them.  And I’ll be there to make sure you do,” he promised, taking three backwards steps before turning smoothly and walking away.

"You can’t stop me,” the Doctor said in a voice like flint the instant before it strikes steel.

“Watch me, Time Lord,” Jack said ominously, closing the door behind him.  “You just watch me."


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He still hates Sundays.
> 
> Boring day, Sunday. Nothing good ever happened on a Sunday...

**August 5, 2012  6:48 AM**  
  
He still hates Sundays.  
  
_Boring day, Sunday.  Nothing good ever happened on a Sunday_ , and as a result, he's more than a bit put out with his ship as she insists on steering him back to this one, particular Sunday, despite the heroic effort he expends in attempting to avoid it. Regardless of where he sets the coordinates, no matter how much he rages or pleads or cajoles, even when, in a remarkable fit of pique, he loses it and has a go at the console with that mallet - and damn him if even that little item doesn't make him think of her - it makes not one jot of difference. Wherever he tries to go, there he is.  
  
And that's how he finds himself, on this sunny Sunday morning, sat on a park bench a hundred or so yards away from where the TARDIS has parked herself, amongst a copse of beech trees, near the sports centre on the far side of the Green, staring morosely at the second story window of her flat across the street.  He crosses, then uncrosses, then recrosses his legs with an impatient swipe at his fringe before settling back, resigned to whatever the Old Girl is insistent that he witness.  
  
She's been decidedly moody of late, his TARDIS, and he resolutely refuses to pinpoint the moment she began to misbehave as the night he'd forced her to unceremoniously dump the Captain on the darkened streets of Cardiff.  The man had it coming, no two ways about it and there's absolutely no way in hell he regrets his actions and even less of a chance that he feels the need to make amends, not when Jack was so clearly in the wrong.  He jerks at his bow tie impatiently for lack of a better way to hide his discomfort at the recollection of Jack’s parting words and he cautiously darts his eyes about until he’s nearly dizzy with looking for the man.  He half-expects to see Jack boldly striding across the Green towards him, coat tails swirling dramatically behind, despite the lack of wind.  Raising a hand to push his fringe out of his eyes once more, he’s mentally rehearsing what he’ll say when Jack finally does make his expected reappearance.  
  
And that's when he sees her.  
  
He knows he shouldn’t, but he can't quite help himself.  Without conscious thought, he's rising and following, a moth snared in the tangle of flame-bright curls tumbling down her back as she heads off down the sidewalk at this, an hour of the morning he vividly recalls her pronouncing ungodly the one time he'd made the mistake of flinging her door wide to announce their arrival on the Planet of the Coffee Shops.  He winces at the memory, his hand traveling unconsciously to his shoulder as he remembers the pummeling Donna delivered, despite his assurances that the world beyond the TARDIS doors really had been voted number one in the Top Ten Destinations for the Discerning Traveller.  
  
He’s avoided that world ever since.  
  
“You daft spaceman,” she’d snarled, leaping from her bed to smack him soundly once the initial shock of his intrusion had passed.  “The next time you get it into your fool head to barge into my flippin’ room before the bloody dawn chorus, unannounced **and** uninvited, it had better be because you've finally managed to land us on the flippin’ **Planet of the Boys**!”  She’d slammed the door in his face with more vigour than was strictly necessary, in his opinion, leaving him dumfounded, gaping on the wrong side of her threshold.  
  
Since losing her, he's replayed that scene in his head, countless times.  He’s fairly sure that he’s finally managed to catalogue the range of confused emotion that played out in her eyes that morning as she’d hustled him out her door and, not for the first time, he wonders what she'd have done if he'd simply turned back up at her door, dancing about in his pants. _Probably just laugh_ , he thinks ruefully, despite the desire and disappointment he’d belatedly recognized in her expression and he wonders if **That Man** has ever—  
  
He looks up, aghast as he realizes that, lost in rumination, he’s almost overtaken her.  He stops just short of reaching out and taking her hand, shaking himself from his unhappy reverie and recalling himself to his purpose.  Perception filter or no, he’s fairly certain that if a strange man appeared out of nowhere and had the bloody audacity to grab her hand, with or without a compelling reason to say ‘Run!', Donna Noble would have a thing or three to say about it.  He stops dead, intending to let her get ahead of him once more, but she veers left suddenly and before he can catch her up, the door to the bakery swings shut behind her.  He looks about in sudden consternation for another likely customer and realizes that he’s trapped outside, forced to press his ear up against the window if he wants to hear the sound of her voice.  
  
“Morning, Donna.  Your Sunday usual?" calls the woman behind the counter, looking up from where she settles the latest batch of croissants in the display case. “Chocolate, almond or both?” she adds with a tiny, knowing smirk.  
  
“Mornin', Alice.  Both, please, and a loaf of that dark, crusty bread?” Donna replies, approaching the counter. The two women make small talk as Alice fills her order, and the Doctor is forced to all but flatten himself against the shop window as he vainly attempts to make out their words.  
  
When a voice behind him declares, somewhat petulantly, “What on **earth** do you think you are doing?” from somewhere behind him, the Doctor jumps away from the shop front as if scalded. Whirling on his heel with his hands flung up defensively, he frowns as he finds a tiny English bulldog sat squarely in the middle of the sidewalk behind him, head cocked to the side, regarding him with frank, canine curiosity.  
  
"Come along, Bernard!” the voice says again and the Doctor turns to follow Bernard's lead, up to find the source. "Whatever has gotten into you?” the elderly woman scolds even as she stoops to pet the dog fondly, and the Doctor's eyes widen in recognition.  Though he knows he’s changed bodies since last they met, he’s relieved to realize that his perception filter must be working properly, as he’s positive if it failed, his bum would still be in danger of being on the receiving end of a proper grope from Minnie the Menace.  He steps back against the shop window with a wry smile as Minnie scoops Bernard up, somehow cooing and cajoling simultaneously.  “We’ve so much to do this morning and we don’t want to be late for brunch, do we, dear? We’re finally going to Chiswick House Cafe this week,” she murmurs, tucking the puppy under one arm and hurrying past the bakery in the direction of the flower shop off the High Street.  
  
He’s watching her make her way down the street when the bakery door opens behind him once more and he spins about gracelessly, somehow ending up almost nose to nose with Donna Noble.  He takes an awkward step back even as he flings one hand out to rescue the smaller of the two bags she’s balancing atop her box of pastries, gently nudging it back into place.  He's glad of the distraction so he can pretend that he doesn’t hear Alice call out, “Give my love to Peter,” as Donna backs out of the shop.  
  
“Of course I will.  See you later,” Donna responds with a bright grin, and something inside him breaks.  
  
_This is the last time I'll ever follow her. This is the last time I’ll ever—_ , he tells himself, stopping before his mind can complete the statement. He tries to add more, but even in his thoughts, he isn’t quite ready to accept the inevitability of it all.  He watches her, really studies her, trying to catalogue every detail, every nuance, every tiny little thing that distinguishes Donna Noble from the rest of the universe as she all but skips back to her flat.  She's dressed in loose, light linen trousers and some sort of a soft, squared-off shirt or jacket type of thing that he recognizes as being fashionable, with just a hint of cream-coloured lace beneath the low-cut collar.  
  
Her hair is tied back loosely, shining in the bright morning light as she climbs the stairs to her flat and without warning, he remembers the first time he realized how long and how much he'd wanted touch it. She’d been waiting for him to join her in the console room.  He’d strode boldly aboard and turned to snap his fingers, pleased at the novelty when the TARDIS doors had obediently closed, but when he’d turned to her to share his delight, he was grinning at thin air.  He'd swung around to find her trudging down the corridor that led to her room and he’d had to force himself to stay in place.  
  
He’d wanted to rush after her, to take her in his arms and let her know that even though she’d lost the man of her dreams that day, there was still someone in this reality who loved her.  But even he'd known it that it was too soon to tell her just how lost he'd felt when he saw her face on that damned library node.  Donna needed time to grieve, time to bury her virtual dead and besides, he knew he had time enough. He’d heard what she’d told Martha- she was never going to leave him. She was going to travel with him forever. He was sure he had all the time in the world to show her how he felt.  
  
Where had all that time gone?  
  
He looks up at the scrape of metal against metal as the garden gate latch disengages. _Oh, this is what comes of all my lallygaging again…. it’s a sure sign I’m getting old_ , he thinks, rushing to to slip inside the courtyard gate behind her, just managing to miss the heavy door swinging shut on well-oiled hinges.  He keeps to the far edge of the garden wall as Donna shifts her packages to one arm and presses her thumbprint to the pad beside the reinforced steel security entrance. She shoulders her way in, pausing momentarily as she glances at her garden with a smile, and he waits for the door to shut behind her before flinging his arm up and over his head, sonic in hand, to disable the security camera hidden in the brickwork overhead.  
  
It’s only when he reaches for the doorknob that his situation becomes clear.  
  
That was it.  That was the last time I’ll ever see her, he realizes, and somehow, the finality of that simple awareness strikes him harder than any blow.  He’s not ready for this to be over.  He’s not ready to let her go.  
  
He peeps in through the glass beside her door, cupping his hands around his eyes to shield them from the morning sun, just in time to see **That Man** —  
  
_No. **No** , I'm being childish, and at twelve hundred and thirty-seven, I should be ashamed of myself_, he thinks, his cheeks burning as he straightens with a vicious swipe of his fringe.  He adjusts his bow tie and prepares to stalk away when a faint giggle reaches his ear, stopping him cold.  
  
He turns back hesitantly, hands poised before him in mid air, plucking nervously at nothing.  He screws his eyes shut even as he approaches her door once more until his hands make contact with the glass and he reluctantly peers into the room beyond, just in time to see…  
  
He takes a sharp breath, pivoting, and he finds himself leaning back against her door.  
  
_That Man — **No**._  
_Donna's lov— **NO**._  
  
He shakes his head hard in negation as he struggles to suppress the stinging sensation building behind his eyes.  
  
Detective Inspector…  Peter Carlisle…  Donna’s lover… emerged from the hallway, clad only in pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, hair mussed from sleep, rubbing at his eyes.  
  
"I missed ye,” he hears Peter complain as that man suppresses a yawn.  "Where'd ye go?”  
  
“Just popped down to Maison Blanc,” Donna replies and, closing his eyes, the Doctor can see the smile he hears in her voice.  “Alice sends her love," she adds with an audible smirk, and he can hear the crinkling of the small waxed paper bag he’d saved earlier.  
  
“Alice’s love comes in the shape of Snowball cakes?” comes the incredulous response, tinged with amusement.  
  
“Apparently so,” she laughs.  
  
_Oh, how I’ve missed that sound…_ The door he’d thought so solid must be made of washi paper to hear every word beyond it so clearly. He chances shifting around and squinting into the glass once more.  
  
"I would've gone with ye if ye’d woken me,” Peter chides gently as he lays the bag aside on the kitchen island and embraces her.  
  
“You were secure in the arms of Morpheus, if the snorin’ was anything to go by,” she retorts, winding her arms about his neck.  
  
Peter’s eyes wander in the same directions as his hands and when he finds the lace at her neckline, he favors Donna with a sultry smile. He tugs at the drawstring around her waist and her trousers slip down her hips.  
  
The Doctor pulls away blushing furiously, but he still can’t bring himself to leave. Unconsciously, he prostrates himself against her door even as Peter presses her back against the other side.  The Doctor lays his hands against the solid barrier separating him from his hearts’ desire and tortures himself, pressing his cheek to the steel to hear the sound of her voice one last time.  
  
“I love you, Policeman,” she breathes, "more than anyone I've ever known,"  and the Doctor is certain both his hearts have cleaved in two.  
  
"And I love ye.  I would not wish any companion in the world but you,” Peter replies, but doesn't complete the quotation.  The Doctor frowns and after a moment, he straightens abruptly and backs away, realizing there will be no more words forthcoming from the other side of their door any time soon.  
  
And now he has another reason to hate Sundays.


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is a short one, but it really is only a prologue to the next chapter. It's been posted to LJ for awhile now, but with the fact that I'm starting Graduate school and all the weirdness going on over at LJ, I thought it prudent to back it up here, now, while I can. I'm working on more, if anyone still cares.

It's dark up here on the hill, which suits him. It's a good place for watching the skies as the stars slowly wheel about overhead. It's an even better place to sulk in the shadows, brooding on what might have been.

He's dismayed to find that he doesn’t need to follow her to know that she's all right - really all right, not Time Lord All Right - but that's actually no surprise. He's known for quite some time that Donna was more than capable of getting on with her life without him. If he's being honest with himself- which he rarely is- she never really needed him in the first place. She certainly doesn’t need him to watch out for her now, to steer her away from all those tiny little things that, in the past, might have triggered the Time Lord consciousness within her and honestly, that doesn't come as an unexpected revelation to him either. She was always a clever girl, his Donna, clever and stubborn, and he should have known that her brain would stealthily begin working to repair itself to its former glory the moment he left her mindscape. It will take her the rest of her life to complete the reconstruction, he knows, but slowly, agonizingly slowly, she is making herself better. None of these revelations surprise him in the slightest. What does come as a shock, however, is the stark realization that Donna Noble is happy.

No, it’s more than that. Simple happiness doesn't even begin to cover it. Closing his eyes, he can see her as clearly as if she were standing before him again and Donna Noble is glowing; she’s radiant, she’s incandescent. He’s only ever seen her this blissfully ecstatic once before, when she’d finally realized that he was saying yes, that she could come along with him, just for the ride. 'She'd been that happy with me,' he thinks, with a self righteous tweak of his bow tie, and rightly so. After all, in granting her access to his home, he had really gifted her with all of time and space. But the fact is that somewhere along the way, she had somehow managed to make herself truly at home in his hearts as well, without ever trying.

The Doctor purses his lips and drops his gaze to the ground, drawing complex Gallifreyan glyphs in the dust with the toe of his boot: loneliness, loss and love, daft, devoted and finally, her name, intertwined with his, just as it would have been if only he’d had the courage…

With a savage sweep of his foot, he obliterates those mocking, maudlin words, before flopping back into his chair. He sweeps his fringe back out of his face as he scoffs impatiently at his sentimentality. ‘After all’, he reminds himself, ‘just because I'm miserable is no reason to expect her to be as well.’ But his heart tortures him in remembrance.

She’d fought him every step of the way as he’d walked her neural pathways, burying all traces of their time together as he went until he’d stood before the highest walls at her centre. She was frenzied and frantic as he’d broken through, as he’d breached the core of her personality in his determination to save her and she was witness to his shock when he found himself hidden away in the last place he’d ever suspected, deep in her heart. In that final hour between heartbeats, she’d locked eyes with him and clearly read his dismay. He knew, at the very least, she'd felt his distress, and with her deepest secret revealed, Donna Noble had abruptly ceased her struggles and collapsed into his arms. He’d cradled her to his chest in a way he’d only dared to dream of when it might have been a possibility, but it was too late.

The Doctor wipes away a tear he has no right to shed. He can never explain his reaction to her now and, thanks to him, she didn’t remember misunderstanding his discomposure anyway. He settled back into the folding chair stood before the garden shed on Wilf’s hill and gazed once more at the stars. It was time, time to face the facts. His time was gone. His chance had passed. It was time to gracefully bow out, to let go, to move on, but before he does, he has one last thing to take care of on his second mini-farewell tour and so he waits here, alone, up the hill in the dark.


End file.
